“Because I measured them for my dad when he was cutting new plywood covers. The old ones leaked. They’re not all the same size, even though they look that way from a distance.” Molly studied Mitch with a critical eye. “The old you might have had trouble squeezing through it. But now that you’re Mr. Six-Pack Abs you shouldn’t have any problem.”
“And Des has gotten so skinny you could fit four of her through there,” said Bella, parked there beside him with chubby hands on round hips.
“Molly, let me see if I’ve got this straight….” Mitch said slowly. “I hike my way there through the woods in the dark past the FBI. I elude the SWAT teams that currently have the entire house surrounded. Slither my way under the back deck to the vent. Cut the wire mesh. Pry open the vent cover …”
“Which should be a snap,” she interjected. “The frame’s way punky with dry rot. My dad was planning to replace it.”
“Then drop down into the root cellar and snatch up Des—if she’s actually down there, and if she is she’s still alive. The two of us escape the way I came in. Then the SWAT can go in and take Clay and Hector however they choose. Does that about cover it?”
Molly nodded. “Pretty much. Except for one teeny-tiny detail—I’m coming with you.”
“Not a chance. It’s one thing for me to risk my own life. I’m a grown-up. Or at least that’s what my driver’s license says. You’re just a little girl.”
“Mitch—?”
“It’s too dangerous for you. I won’t allow it. No way.”
“Mitch, will you shut up and listen? You won’t get within a hundred yards of the place without me. You’ll never even make it through those woods. Besides, it’s my father they killed and my mother they messed up. So stop being such an overprotective butthead, will you?”
“Fine,” Mitch sighed. Because she was right about the woods part. “But once we reach the barn I’m on my own. I have to insist upon that. You will stay out of harm’s way, understood?”
“Sure,” Molly agreed. “Whatever you say.”
Bella didn’t try to talk them out of it. Just kissed each of them on the cheek, handed Mitch her flashlight and said, “I’m here if you need me, tattela.”
Which made it official: Bella Tillis, the pride of Brooklyn, U.S.A., widow of Morris, grandmother of eight and godmother to a million causes, was as big a fool for love as he was.
Congress. They absolutely needed her in Congress.
And now he and Molly were emerging from the deep forest darkness. Mitch could make out lights between the trees. The high beams of the state police vehicles that were parked out in the lane. The drizzle was becoming a light, steady rain. The rumble of thunder growing louder.
Molly halted there at the edge of the woods. They were down near the end of the lane—past Amber and Keith’s place, and a safe distance away from the action. Staying low, the two of them scampered across the pavement and plunged into a different sort of rough terrain. This one a thorny, brambly thicket of wild berry bushes, barberry, privet and God knew what else. There was no path to follow here. Only dense, overgrown brush that fought back hard as they inched their way through it on their hands and knees, the thorns attacking their faces and bare arms. But for Mitch there was no giving in to a few scratches. Not when Des needed him. Not when this fearless little girl wasn’t hesitating to do what needed doing. So he pressed on.
Until finally they’d circled their way around behind the barn in back of Molly’s house. It was very dark here. The barn stood between them and all of those lights out in the street. But they were close enough to the action that Mitch could hear the voices of the troopers now.
Molly took the six-inch Maglite from him and flicked it on, keeping its beam low as she searched and searched and … there it was, the old chicken wire fence she’d warned him about. All that remained of a vegetable garden from generations gone by. But still sturdy enough to block their way. Mitch pulled the wire cutters from his back pocket and snipped through it, then bent the edges back so they could pass on through.
The wind was starting to pick up, tossing the trees around. And the thunder was so powerful it shook the ground. Lightning crackled directly overhead, bright as daylight. Those helicopters were no longer circling around up there. They’d touched down ahead of the deluge. And now here it came. First Mitch heard it pound on the roof of the barn. Then he felt it pelting him, drenching him. His clothes stuck to him. But he didn’t mind. He welcomed the cool, wet relief.
Quickly, they made their way along behind the barn, rain pouring down their necks. When they reached the side that was nearest to the back deck Molly poked her head out for a look—then retreated at once. Mitch had a look for himself. What he saw was two state troopers with shotguns staked out before him in the driveway, their backs to him, eyes glued on the house. Damn.
It meant they had to go with Plan B. His pint-sized partner was already working her way across to the other side of the barn—the one that faced the backyard. Here, there would be nothing between them and the back deck other than the big old maple where Molly had her tree house. No actual cover. Just forty feet or so of open lawn. A much, much riskier play. Especially with all of this lightning flashing away. The lights were turned off inside the house so that Clay and Hector could move around in there unseen. Not to mention get a better view of what was happening outside. If either man were watching the yard he’d instantly see Mitch making a dash for it. So would those two troopers on the other side of the barn. Although Mitch was less concerned about them. Their eyes were trained on those shattered glass kitchen doors, not on the grass.
It was Mitch’s only chance. He and Molly both knew it as they huddled there together behind the trunk of the big tree, soaked, scratched and bleeding.
He put his mouth to her ear and whispered. “I want you to wait right here, okay?”
She whispered back, “No way. You need me to hold the light.”
“Molly, that was not our deal.”
“I tore up our old deal. This is our new one—so live with it.”
“You’ll make one hell of an agent someday, but right now you’re staying put. It’s too dangerous.”
Which was true. Trouble was, Mitch was talking to himself. Molly was already slithering across the lawn on her belly toward the house. Mitch shook his head and went after her, belly down in the sopping wet grass. Hoping that Clay and Hector were watching the street at this particular moment and not the yard. Hoping those troopers kept watching the kitchen doors and not the yard. Hoping the lightning would let up for one second. Just hoping …
They made it. The two of them were now tucked safely underneath the deck, rain trickling down on them through the gaps between the decking. The support joists down there made for considerably less than the twenty-eight inches of head clearance Molly had promised him. But he was fine as long as he didn’t try to do anything more than snake his way toward that air vent. Of more concern were those razor-sharp shards of broken glass from the French doors that had fallen into the mud beneath them. Also the rubble of rough-edged granite fieldstones strewn down there. But Molly, who was all exposed elbows and knees, didn’t complain. So neither did he.
The fingers of her outstretched hand found the foundation of the house before them. Sniffling, Molly flicked on the Maglite, cupping its narrow beam with her hand to prevent the troopers from seeing it.
The vent was three feet to their left. When they’d wormed their way over to it Mitch found that it was just as she’d described it—quarter-inch wire mesh on the outside, a plywood cover underneath. It seemed big enough to squeeze through. Hey, it had to be.
The wire mesh was staple-gunned in place. It would take him all night to pry out those staples. Instead, Mitch got the wire cutters out of his back pocket. Stretched out on his side there in the mud, he snipped around the edge of the mesh. It was not a quiet job. But there was the wind and the thunder and the rain beating down. So he set off no alarm bells as he snip, snip, snipped away. A s
oaking wet Molly lay there beside him calmly holding the light as Mitch peeled the mesh back and folded it out of his way. Then he had to pause for a moment to catch his breath. His chest was heaving, sweat pouring from him along with the rain. Molly dug a damp tissue from the pocket of her shorts and dabbed at his forehead just like an operating room nurse. He smiled at her gratefully. If he ever had a daughter he wanted her to be just like Molly. Hell, he was even going to name his first girl Molly. Decided it right then and there.
She put her lips to his ear and whispered, “You’ve got one screw in each corner. They’re an inch and a half long, if I remember right.”
Nodding, Mitch exchanged his wire cutters for the Baby Terrier. Worked the thin edge of the pry bar between the vent cover and one corner of the frame and gave it a try. The frame was very soft, as promised. He lay there working the pry bar in and out, putting some muscle behind it now. It sure was a good thing he’d been logging time at the Equinox with Liza Birnbaum these past months. The old Mitch would have collapsed in an exhausted, quivering heap of man blubber by now.
The wood let out a groan of protest as it splintered away from the rusty screw. Mitch froze immediately. Molly flicked off the light. And they lay there in silence, listening. Hearing no voices, no footsteps. No response. No one had heard it.
The second screw came away easier. With an outstretched hand Mitch was now able to push the left side of the cover inward by a couple of inches, immediately releasing the moldy smell of the root cellar within. He went to work on the third screw, wedging the Baby Terrier into the punky frame, patiently prying the vent cover from it. And now the third screw came away and he was clutching the inch-thick plywood cover in both hands, working it back and forth until the final screw gave way and the cover came free. He turned it on its side and pulled it out through the vent opening, laying it on the ground next to him. Then he took the light from Molly and shined it downward at what appeared to be a four-foot drop to the cellar’s dirt floor.
Briefly, Mitch thought he heard a faint moan coming from in there somewhere. But it was raining so hard on the decking overhead that he couldn’t be sure. He put the Maglite in his mouth and plunged headfirst through the open vent. His head and shoulders made it easily. His hips and butt, well, not so much. He had to do some serious wriggling. Got himself snagged on the splintered wood, but Molly freed him. And he just did manage to squeeze through the opening, thankful for every single ounce he’d taken off.
The only trouble now was that he found himself teetering there on the vent frame. The top half of his body hanging in midair while his legs still flailed around out in the mud with Molly—who decided on her own that what he needed more than anything else was a good, firm shove. So she gave him one.
And that was when Mitch fell in.
CHAPTER 15
AM I TRIPPING?
That was Des’s first thought. She was just plain imagining it. Had to be. She’d taken a big-time blow to the head. Wasn’t totally with it. Was maybe even drifting in and out of consciousness. She had to expect this sort of thing to happen, didn’t she?
Then came her second thought: Her ears were simply doing a number on her. Trussed up like she was in total darkness. Rumbles of thunder shaking the ground. That damned rag stuffed in her mouth. Little Molly very likely lying dead right there next to her. Her senses were spooked. Human nature to hear things that weren’t really there.
So why am I still hearing it?
Actually, Des wasn’t sure what she was hearing. Some kind of steady, determined little scratching noises. They seemed to be coming from somewhere down there in the root cellar with her. Could they be …? Of course, mice were skittering their way along the foundation. She was hearing their little claws on the stones, that’s it. Harmless little field mice. Not to worry. Unless, that is, they were rats. Please, God, please don’t let them be rats. This is my final night on earth. I don’t want the last thing I remember before I die to be rats all over me, gnawing on my nose and my lips and my …
Wait, now she heard a whole new sound. And it had zilch to do with rodents. This one was the sound a rusty nail makes when you’re yanking it from a board with a claw hammer. Suddenly, Des was blinded by a shaft of light. Her eyes blinking and watering as they adjusted ever so slowly to it. It wasn’t even a bright light, really. Just the dim light of the night slanting across a narrow section of the dirt floor. She heard more noises, quicker and bolder. And now somebody yanked open one of the air vents, flooding the entire root cellar with half-light. Des could hear the sound of the rain coming down outside. She could even smell it as her eyes flicked wildly about, searching and searching.
She was alone down there. No sign of Molly anywhere in the small, bare, root cellar. Or anything else. If the meth was stashed down there they must have buried it.
Now a flashlight beam was pointing straight downward to the dirt floor. Gauging the distance maybe. She let out a moan, gasping as someone began to wriggle headfirst through the narrow open vent. Some fearless SWAT cowboy with more cojones than brains. Some daring, wonderful fool who placed no value on his own life. She wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out to be Grisky. His operation. And his kind of grandstand play. No matter. If that bastard got her out here alive she’d kiss him. Hell, she’d do him. It would only take a minute and half of her time, after all. Yeah, it had to be Grisky. Only someone with his amount of advanced training could pull off a rescue operation like this with Clay and Hector right there above her in the house. The man must have been a Navy Seal before he joined the bureau. He was incredibly gutty and silent and sure as he made it through that opening, readying himself to drop soundlessly down to the dirt floor and …
And he landed with a thud.
Seriously, the man fell like a great big sack of potatoes. An “Oof” of air came out of him when he touched down. Des drew in her own breath, hearing rapid footsteps on the kitchen floorboards overhead. Had they heard him? Were they going to open the trapdoor and check on her?
No, please no….
The footsteps retreated. They hadn’t heard him. There was so much noise going on outside between Emergency Services personnel and the weather that he’d gotten away with it. Damn, he had balls and luck. And now her hero was crawling his way toward her. Checking her over from head to foot with his light. Then he turned it on himself so she could get a look at him and be reassured. Which was straight out of the rescue manual.
Except Des almost choked on that damned rag when saw whose boyish face was grinning at her. He’d been through hell getting here. Face, neck and arms all scratched and bloodied, streaked with mud. He was soaked to the skin in his Mr. Ralph Lauren polo shirt. But she was seeing him and her whole body knew it—that same old fluttering sensation from her tummy to her toes told her so.
He pulled the rag from her mouth and whispered, “Didn’t expect to run into you here, thinny.” His breath smelling of … was it pastrami?
She swallowed down huge, blessed gulps of air before her own lips found his ear, which smelled of some fancy new hair gel. Also cologne, she could have sworn. Which was positively not Mitch. “Am … I … tripping?” she gasped.
“If you’re tripping, then we both are,” he whispered in response.
“B-But what are you …?”
“No big. I had a free evening so I thought I’d hop in the car and see what you were up to.” Gently, he probed the back of her head with his fingers. “Hey, you’ve been bleeding.”
“Concussion, maybe. I’m okay. Doughboy, what are you doing here?”
He took out his pocket knife and went to work on the ropes binding her wrists and ankles. “Helping out a neighbor.”
“Neighbor?” She sat up as soon as her limbs were free, flexing them gratefully. “What neighbor?”
“Molly Procter.”
“Molly’s …?” Des choked back a sob. “Clay didn’t shoot her?”
“Not so you’d notice. But you can ask her yourself. She’s waiting for us right ou
tside that air vent.”
“She’s here?”
“Of course. How do you think I made it all this way without attracting any attention? Did you know she can actually see in the dark? I swear to God, that girl is part bat. Or maybe she’s actually a girl vampire who—”
Des clamped her hand over his mouth. Sometimes it needed doing when he got his jabber on. “Please tell me the hundred percent truth about something, will you?” she whispered.
He nodded his head up and down mutely.
“Am I tripping?”
CHAPTER 16
“YOU’RE NOT TRIPPING,” HE whispered after Des had finally agreed to remove her slender, clammy hand from his mouth. But, strangely enough, he was. Just being near to her, even in this darkness, Mitch could feel his skin tingling all over. Insane. It was totally insane.
“But what about … I mean, you and me. We’re not …” Des shook her head, unable to string the words together.
No maybe about that concussion. She definitely needed to get looked at by a doctor right away.
“Listen, if Cary Grant can come to Ingrid Bergman’s rescue in Notorious even after she’s been schtupping Claude Rains left and right for months, then I’m man enough to come through for you.”
Actually, Mitch was pretty proud of how adroitly he was handling himself. This was the first time he’d been face-to-face with the green-eyed monster since she’d stomped on his heart. And yet here he was being nothing but gallant. “The truth is that I still have feelings for you,” he went on, determined to say what needed saying. “I guess I always will. You can’t turn it on and off like a faucet. Besides, I figured I owed you one.”
“For what?”
“All of the times you’ve saved my life. So now we’re even. And everything’s good between us, okay? Ready to get the hell out of here?”
“No need to stick around on my account.”
Together, they crawled their way toward the air vent. Mitch locked his fingers together to form a step and gave her a boost up and out with ease. She reached for Molly and embraced her. The girl buried her face in Des’s collarbone, sobbing with relief.
The Sour Cherry Surprise Page 18
