“Let’s hope they don’t. I’d like to hear those details.”
Not now. “I need to call my friend, Corrin.”
Kyle nodded toward the phone. “Anything you need.”
She punched familiar numbers. “Voice mail, wouldn’t you know . . . Corrin, it’s Miranda. I’m doing fine. Don’t call me on Grant’s phone or mine. I’ll call you. Bye.”
She left the same message for Shirley.
“A text came from Jesse,” Kyle said. “Two sharpshooters and a squad are traveling by helicopter.”
Every nerve in her body coiled into a tighter spring.
“We all need to be clear headed. Resting for a few minutes wouldn’t hurt you,” he said.
“There’s no way I’ll sleep. I need to thank Red.”
“Here, borrow my coat. Gloves are in the pockets.”
Miranda willed her body to quit vibrating long enough to work the zipper. “Thanks.”
The rescue had to work. No one else died from another one of her stupid decisions.
This time, she’d die, too.
Chapter 11
Two buff agents dressed in pale gray camouflage marched into Kyle’s living room. One took Kyle aside.
“I called Poppy, Grant’s grandfather,” Kyle said. “He’d driven into town, and when he came back, there were signs of a struggle at Pat and Tom Morley’s house. They were gone. I alerted him you were enroute. He’s former FBI.”
Miranda’s heart hit bottom while the agent responded to Kyle in an indistinguishable undertone.
Another man and a woman wearing camo entered the living room carrying long black cases.
She studied the group who could model the latest workout equipment, especially a ginger-haired one close to Grant’s height.
The female agent had straight bangs accenting her round, baby-doll eyes. She could’ve passed for a kindergarten teacher until she removed a rifle from a case and deftly attached a scope.
Miranda flinched.
The tallest man stepped away from Kyle and flashed a movie star smile at Miranda. “Hi, I’m Jesse.” He nodded toward the woman. “Bullseye’s the one cradling her M-24 bolt action. She’s normally in command, but seeing as I’ve been to Emma Springs, I’ll be the lead.”
Miranda stared at the rifle. “Venom stationed one gunman in an upstairs window.”
Jesse unfolded a map. “Protocol in this type of hostage situation is to lob in a couple flash bangs and then secure Grant’s house.”
“Police protocol would’ve let Ike bleed to death,” Miranda said. “They can see across the empty meadow to the road.”
“Miranda had an idea,” Kyle offered. “Let me show you.” He outlined her suggestions to the group. “The trailer’s hooked to my Jeep.”
“Practice loading the mule.” Jesse nodded to one of his men, who threw on a coat and headed outside. “Miranda’s photo’s been blasted over every law enforcement network. Karpenito would’ve sent her ID to Venom first thing, then maybe come here, too. Kyle, you sure you’re okay to drive?”
“Anything for the Morley’s,” he said.
Miranda gripped her chair arm. Kyle and these agents hadn’t caused this. An image of white sheets draped over the three bodies of her family flashed in her mind. No one would have to go to the morgue again because of her.
She smoothed back her hair. “If I wear a hat and bulky clothing, they won’t know it’s me. If Red balks for one of you and Venom suspects anything, they’ll shoot your team, Kyle, and Grant.”
Jesse never blinked. “We can handle the mule and the gunmen.” He touched her forearm. “Grant’s a lucky guy.”
“Lucky? Beaten by a killer? His parents kidnapped?” She hugged her sides. “I’m responsible for all of you now, too.”
“Not so. We’re trained for these situations, and Grant’s part of our team,” Jesse said. “Your plan will save his ass.”
“Nothing in life’s certain, a lesson I learned the hard way. Repeatedly.” She bit her lip. “The plan has to work.”
“I can’t get over you throwing one of them into a pile of horse crap.” Jesse glanced out the window and frowned. “I won’t get on your bad side.”
“If they find manure man in the barn, they’ll know Miranda escaped,” Bullseye said. She moved closer to Jesse and looked outside. “Appears that her mule’s the risk.”
“What do you mean?” Miranda asked.
Bullseye pointed to the horse trailer. “No one’s gotten the animal within five feet of the rear opening. Should we try a stick?”
Miranda stood up, fists clenched. “Absolutely not. I trusted Red, and he brought me here. He’ll do what I ask.”
Jesse checked his phone. “Run the drill using Miranda. Time’s not our ally.”
Miranda said a silent prayer, stepped outside, and approached Red. She took the lead rope from the agent and patted his shoulder. “In and out of the trailer, okay buddy?”
She stepped up ten inches into the rear of the trailer and he hopped in after. “Good boy.” She patted him and backed him out.
Jesse stood in the open door, scowling.
“Satisfied?” Miranda asked him.
“For now,” he stated. “Should catch them off guard without waving any red flags. Bullseye, try to load the mule.”
“I tried earlier.” Bullseye took the rope.
Red splayed his feet and wouldn’t step forward.
“Not happening, boss,” Bullseye said. “He only trailers for Miranda. If this is the plan, give us twenty minutes to coordinate diving out of the cargo area.”
“It’s the best idea. Make it fifteen,” Jesse said.
Kyle offered his arm to Miranda. “You’ve had a challenging forty-eight hours, even without sporting a bullet wound.” He escorted her inside. “Looks like you’ll be Red’s handler. Rest for a little bit. Please.” He led her through the kitchen to a bedroom.
“Sure.” She sank onto the bed.
“Is the wound painful?” Kyle slid off her boots.
“No, it’s better today.”
“Good to hear.” He lifted her legs onto the comforter and pulled a blanket over her. “Don’t worry. We’ll get Grant back.” He squeezed her shoulder.
“And his parents. I’ve never even met them, Kyle, and they’re being held by killers.”
“They’ll be rescued.” He pulled the door closed.
Murmurs of deep voices continued.
She’d landed in the middle of her worst nightmare, while unthinkable horrors unfolded as the clock ticked.
~ ~ ~
Kyle entered his typically tranquil kitchen, now command central for a SWAT team. “So many unknowns scare me worse than discovering the plague hit town,” he said. The group had reunited by the table. A vibe of urgency hung in the air.
“I hear you,” Jesse said. “So we’re all clear—we have two critical parts of this operation—protecting Miranda, and getting Grant and his family out alive.”
Bullseye leaned over the drawings. “Grant’s parents must’ve been eliminated.”
Kyle winced.
“He’ll use them for leverage,” Jesse countered. “Maneski’s smart. Ordering a federal agent or former stater killed would be his death sentence.”
Kyle stepped forward. “Pat and Tom Morley helped raise me. I refuse to believe they’re dead. If they haven’t been moved to Grant’s, how do we find them?”
“Someone will talk.” Jesse stared at the map.
Car chases, kidnappings, sharpshooters. Nothing terrible happened in Kyle’s version of Emma Springs. This was a Seattle shitstorm, to use Grant’s term. “I’ve got a wig in storage from Halloween. I’ll grab it and see if it’ll work to disguise Miranda,” he offered.
“Good idea,” Bullseye said. “We’ll need to alter Miranda’s appearance.”
Jesse nodded. “The mule readily followed her in the trailer once, let’s hope we get a repeat.”
“Great,” Kyle said to himself as he stomped to the garage. “Cooperation from a mule will determine if Grant lives or dies.”
Chapter 12
“Get your ass down here after you checked all the places Whitley could hide!” Venom yelled from the bottom of the stairs. “Time to get serious!”
Ropes dug into Grant’s wrists and ankles. Had Miranda stayed in the gun safe? And what about his folks? A cold sweat broke out on his brow. Were they tied up? Hurting?
Hostages became collateral damage.
He dropped his head and took a deep, pained breath. His chest pressed against another cord. Aching ribs took him back to grade school pummelings. Afterwards, his mom had smoothed arnica on his bruises.
And he’d not protected her from killers.
He worked his fingers against the zip ties binding his hands.
Venom limped in and waved a blue ball cap, then threw it onto the couch. “Found this on the trail below your cabin. Look familiar, Morley?”
“Nope.” Grant shrugged. “I’m not into sports.”
A heavy-set man plodded downstairs. “Yeah, whadda ya want, boss?”
“Apparently, Skankster can’t read a text. Worthless ex-con.” He jerked his thumb toward the back door. “In five I want you to take his place to watch the road from the barn.”
“Lemme hit the john first,” mumbled the pudgy guy.
“Who slept in your other bedroom?” Venom waved reddish-brown strands in front of Grant’s nose, dropped them, and used a narrow-bladed knife to clean his fingernails. “You’d better spill, or there’ll be scalp attached when I’m through with her.”
“My sister came in for a visit. She flew out last week.”
“The Whitley woman Googled your parents’ house. Make it easy on the old folks and tell us where she is.” Venom rubbed his bandaged leg, and slid his hands into the leather gloves he’d worn during the earlier punching session.
“One of my guys is itching to hear squeals from a former State Patrol pig.” Venom sneered. “I’m instructed to do whatever I need to get your cooperation.” Regret shadowed his tense face before he stepped to the window.
Grant’s mind reeled while he fought a wave of nausea. Agonizing minutes ticked by.
If they hurt Dad or Mom . . . He’d known Miranda had phoned their house, why hadn’t he moved them?
Fidelity, bravery, integrity. Unquestionable loyalty sworn in an oath. You didn’t negotiate with crooks.
Darkness enveloped Grant, seeping into his bones, choking his spirit to live. His chin sank to his chest.
“Is Maneski sitting in a cushy jail cell worth your parents’ lives?” Venom pulled out his phone and swore. “Lousy reception.” He walked into the kitchen. “Finally, a signal.”
“Hi, darlin’,” Venom crooned. “You and the little feller are on your own for a while. Don’t flash the money and don’t call me. I’ll be in touch. Love you both.”
Venom dialed again. “Hey, time to transport the geezers,” he ordered. “Yeah, I can give you an address.”
The clatter of metal bouncing on metal came from the driveway.
Grant sat up. A trailer chain?
“I’ll text the address in a minute.” Venom hobbled to the side of the window. “Don’t move until I tell you!” he shouted into the phone before dropping it on the couch. He stumbled to the stairs. “Get outta the can and back to the bedroom window. Now!” he yelled.
Grant twisted his neck.
A horse trailer rolled by. A flicker of hope grew in his chest.
Venom sliced Grant’s ties, nicking his skin. “Get rid of them quick, or you all die.” He yanked him by his shirt collar, and kicked the chair out from under him. “Hide your face using the hood.” He peeled off his own sweatshirt and threw it at him.
Grant fought the stiffness in his arms while pulling on the sleeves.
“Nothing funny,” Venom said. He stood behind the door, opened it a foot, and then pushed Grant forward.
Kyle’s Jeep towed the trailer another few feet and stopped.
Grant grimaced and shuffled outside.
A woman with black braids sat in the passenger seat.
The barrel of a gun jabbed his back. “Hurry up.”
Her window rolled down. “Hi Grant, we appreciate using a stall in your barn for a few days,” Miranda yelled out from the cab. “Do you care which one?”
“Answer them, fool,” Venom hissed. “Tell them you’re leaving and they need to hustle.”
Grant’s heart pounded. “Anywhere you put him is fine.” Sweat beaded on his brow. “Can’t chat. I’ve got an appointment.”
Venom pulled him inside and shut the door. The gun jabbed his side.
“Don’t move,” Venom growled, and turned toward the window. “Skankster must’ve seen them coming.”
Grant watched over his shoulder. The truck made a wide circle in the driveway and stopped with the horse trailer parked alongside the barn. The nose of the truck pointed toward the road.
Kyle walked to the back and swung open the trailer’s rear door. Miranda backed Big Red out.
A knot constricted Grant’s throat while he observed the perimeter.
A flash of gray material moved at the front of the horse van, then into the shadows of the barn. Had Venom seen it, too?
While Miranda led Big Red into the barn, Kyle jumped into the cab and popped the hood.
“What’s the idiot doing?” Venom said. “Get them to leave.” He opened the door and pushed Grant to the stoop.
“Something wrong?” Grant yelled.
“The service light blinked on,” Kyle said. “Can I borrow a flashlight to check under the hood?”
Grant held his breath.
“Get the dimwit a flashlight. Probably doesn’t know a wrench from a crow bar. I’ve got plenty of bullets and two shooters. Fix it,” Venom sneered.
Grant reached into the coat closet and pulled out a black Maglite, and then lumbered on stiff legs across his driveway toward the hood of the Jeep.
Kyle covered his mouth and coughed out ‘agents’ from his seat fifteen feet away.
Miranda closed the trailer door and struggled with the latch.
Leave it and run! Grant wanted to scream. He slowed down and angled toward Miranda.
Ten feet remained. “Need a hand getting it closed?” he called to her.
She used her fist to pop the latch into the slot.
A long hank of reddish brown hair fell out of the wig.
Russet on white.
A window slid open on the second story.
Grant leapt forward and tackled her as a gunshot cracked. A bullet whizzed by his right ear.
They tumbled to the ground by the trailer wheel on the far side. He covered her with his body, his heart racing.
A second shot pierced the air. Broken glass scattered across the roof.
“Agents have breached the house. The inside’s secured,” Jesse yelled, while he ran past the trailer.
“Are either of you hit?” Kyle kneeled by Grant.
“No.” Grant eased off her. “Miranda? You okay?”
Her eyes stayed shut, her body remained still.
“You probably knocked the wind out of her. Move over and let me check,” Kyle said. He drew Miranda’s knees to her chest.
Brittle nerves burst inside of Grant. “Please Miranda, you have to wake up.” He cupped her cheek in his hands. “I hit her hard, Kyle. Too damn hard.”
Miranda gulped air while her dark lashes fluttered against pale skin.
>
“My sweet Miranda.” Grant kissed her temple.
“Grant, you’re alive!” She struggled to sit up. Her eyes darted between them. “Where are your parents?”
Grant pulled her close. A brilliant light released from deep within his soul. “Thank God you’re safe. We’ll find them next.” He pulled her to her feet.
Shouts came from his front door.
A man holding his hand against a bleeding shoulder stumped onto the porch. Bullseye pointed a gun at his chest and another armed agent followed behind. Venom limped out next while Jesse held a pistol to his back.
Two agents emerged from the barn, hoisting a trussed man. “Found your package, Miranda,” one said.
After they dragged the thug by, manure fumes fouled the air.
“Venom calls him Skankster,” Grant said. “Name fits.”
Jesse and Bullseye held guns on Venom and his thugs while the other agents secured zip ties.
“Put them in the trailer,” Jesse ordered.
Grant cupped her elbow and propelled her toward his house. “Check to see Miranda’s okay, Kyle.”
“Will do.” Kyle stopped at the front door. “Galloping a mule in a snowstorm, planning your escape, and getting flattened by you doesn’t fit into my instructions for her to rest for a few days.”
“I’ll try harder.” Grant stepped aside for Kyle and Miranda to go inside. “Thanks, team.” He yelled to the agents. “I’m assuming the window shot belonged to Bullseye?”
“You guessed it, boss.” Jesse said. “You’ve got a couple of smart friends, including a four-legged one.” He waved at the Montana Highway Patrol car speeding down the driveway. “Next, we find your parents.”
“Good plan.” Grant nodded approval and headed indoors.
“Miranda’s unharmed and on the couch.” Kyle patted Grant’s back as he passed him. “Everyone’s going to be okay. I’ll check the bullet wound on the creep outside.”
“Thanks again, Kyle.” Grant knelt by Miranda.
“Your folks, we have to find them.” She brushed her finger over Grant’s bruises. A tear splashed onto her cheek.
The Hitman's Mistake Page 18
