Before It's Too Late

by Sara Driscoll

  McCord and Cara came through the doorway at that moment and McCord abruptly stopped in his tracks at the sight of Meg holding the military knife an inch from Webb’s chest. “Whoa! Put that thing away. Save that aggression for Garber, or whoever the perp is.”

  Meg rolled her eyes and smoothly slid the blade home again in its sheath, tugging her sleeve back down to conceal it. “I was just showing Todd, so he could see I’m ready.”

  “Second knife in the boot?” Cara asked. “Shoulder holster?”

  “Yes and yes.”

  Cara glanced at McCord. “Her preferred close-combat combination. Otherwise it would be a second, smaller firearm in an ankle holster.”

  “You do this a lot?”

  “Self-defense isn’t new to me.” Meg picked up a well-worn, broad-brimmed leather crusher off the bed and perched it at an angle on her head. “But even if I spot him in the bushes, I have to let him actually try to get to me. That’s the point behind the ‘assaulting a federal officer’ charge. A gun isn’t as useful in close quarters like that. A knife is much more versatile.”

  “Mom’s got breakfast ready, so we should head down,” Cara said. “Hawk, come. Breakfast! Saki and Blink are probably already eating.” Ears perked, Hawk trotted out the door. “Come on, let’s eat and then get out there.”

  “Everyone except you.” McCord followed her out into the second-floor hallway. “You’re dead.”

  “Right. I keep forgetting that.” Cara glanced back at him. “Nice article, by the way. I forgot to tell you yesterday. You really captured the tragedy of my passing.”

  “I didn’t lay the misery on too thick?”

  “No, just enough. Seriously, Clay, it was a good article. It’s going to draw him out, I know it.”

  The smile slid from McCord’s face as he started down the stairs. “That’s kind of what I’m afraid of.”

  “I’m right here,” Meg said from behind them. “I can hear every word you’re saying.”

  “I’m not hiding the fact I’m a little uncomfortable with this. I know you need to do it, but . . .”

  “Yeah, I need to do it. It’s time to end this.” Meg glanced at Webb, caught his answering nod. “Now let’s eat. No one does the big hearty breakfast like Mom, and we’re going to need it. It could be a long day. The rescue opens to visitors at nine AM, but the ‘volunteers’ will be officially arriving at eight AM to get the animals fed and watered, and cages and stalls cleaned beforehand.”

  “What about the two agents who came in with me before the article was published so he couldn’t track us?” Cara asked, stepping off the stairs and heading for the kitchen.

  “They’re going to coordinate the operation from inside the house. The agents who are stationed around the property have been there since five-thirty, while it was still dark. Dad helped get them into place and was back to the house before sunup.”

  They entered the kitchen, to find Eda standing at the stove in the large, sunny room. She glanced up from the eggs she was scrambling as they came in. “Good morning. Grab a seat at the table and I’ll bring the food over in a minute. Cara, can I leave you to pour the coffee?”

  “Sure.” Cara went to one of the cupboards and started pulling down thick clay mugs, setting them beside the coffeemaker.

  Meg went to her mother and gave her a quick hug. “Thanks, Mom.”

  Eda gave her daughter a quick, critical once-over. “For what?”

  “For agreeing to host this circus. For putting us up. For making breakfast.” Her voice dropped. “For being the rock you always are when we need to lean on you a little.” Bending, she gave her mother a quick kiss on the cheek.

  Her mother laid a hand against her cheek. “You kick that bastard’s ass for what he’s done to my girls, you hear me?”

  Meg smiled. “Loud and clear.”

  “And be safe while you’re doing it. You know I won’t draw an easy breath until this is over.”

  “I know.” She gave her mother another hug and then took her shoulders and bodily turned her back to the stove. “I’m distracting you and you need to keep an eye on the stove before we’re eating charcoal for breakfast.”

  “You take that hat off before you sit down at my table, young lady.”

  Smiling, Meg wandered back to the table, dropping the hat on the sideboard against the wall, and snagged a cup of coffee from Cara as she passed, already mixed to her specifications. “Bless you.”

  “Least I can do. I confess I’m feeling mostly useless today. I know I can’t help, the whole sting would fall apart if he saw me, but . . .”

  “I know. But it makes me feel better to know you’re here and safe, where he can’t hurt you again. He’ll never hurt you again.”

  “No, he won’t. You’ll make sure of that.”

  “And in the meantime, you can hang with Coleson and Stross, who will be manning the command post here at the house. They’ll have access to all the comms, including the wire I’ll be wearing, so you’ll always know what’s going on. It’ll practically be like you’re out there with me.”

  “Best I can ask for, considering.”

  The sisters separated to take chairs across the table from each other just as Eda started carrying platters of scrambled eggs, sausage, toast, biscuits, and home fries to the table, along with a jug of cream gravy.

  Jake came into the kitchen and pulled out the chair at the head of the long table, taking in the group clustered around his table. “Good morning.”

  “Everything ready to go outside?” Meg asked.

  “Everyone who needs to be is in place and has provisions to make it through the day.” He sent an affectionate smile in Eda’s direction. “That was her idea. They said they didn’t need anything, but she didn’t think they should be out there for hours with nothing to tide them over.”

  “That’s Mom for you.”

  “Sure is.” He took the platter of eggs Cara passed to him, spooned out a generous portion, then passed it to Meg. “You’re all ready?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ll be safe out there.”

  “I promise. No grandstanding. I just want to get this guy.”

  “Good enough for me.”

  Meg considered him over the rim of her coffee mug. “You and mom are being awfully good about all this. Calm and collected all the way.”

  Her father turned to her, and for the first time, she saw the fury behind his eyes, which he was keeping so well concealed. “If you’d let me, I’d go after him myself and take him apart with my bare hands.” He took a sip of his coffee, struggling to keep his rage tamped down. “But that wouldn’t help you and would only hurt your endgame.”

  “It really would.” Meg wrapped her hand around his clenched fist lying on the table beside his plate. “So trust me to do the job for you.” She glanced down the table at Webb, who was silently studying her, while Cara, McCord, and Eda chatted. She looked back at her father. “To quote someone wiser than me on occasion, we’re going to do this ‘smart, not stupid.’ We’re not going to let him get the upper hand, and we aren’t going to let him win. Thank you for trusting me in this. We will get the justice that Cara, Sandy, Michelle, Cat, Karen, and Julie deserve. He’ll pay for this for the rest of his life.”

  “Amen to that.”

  Breakfast passed quickly. Cara and Eda kept the conversation light and flowing, but Meg had trouble joining in. She knew her family was trying to keep its collective chin up, but her mind was already out in the fields. Ready. Waiting.

  After breakfast, she met Coleson and Stross, who were set up in the den. “Agents, thank you for coming all the way out here.”

  Coleson was tall and blond, and gave her a sunny smile. “Happy to. We’ve got the more comfortable position here in the house with your mother’s good coffee.” He toasted Meg with his coffee cup.

  “And breakfast.” Stross, stouter and darker, scraped the last of his eggs off his plate and shoveled them into his mouth. “I pity the poor bastards out there s
ince five-thirty,” he said. “They didn’t get a hot breakfast.”

  “Then let’s try to move this along for them. What have you got for me?”

  “Your electronics.” Coleson set down his mug and picked up a small black case. Tipping open the lid, he lifted out a small, flesh-colored, tapered cylinder. “Hold out your hand.”

  Meg did as directed, and Coleson dropped the object into her hand.

  “That’s your earpiece. Slide it right into your ear. You’ll be able to hear us, loud and clear, and it won’t be visible to the perp.” Meg slipped the earpiece into place as Coleson removed a small, thin microphone on a fine wire, looped into a coil, and a transmitter. “This is your microphone.” He eyed her critically; Meg knew he wasn’t a man checking out a woman, but an agent trying to find the best way to protect a colleague. “We could put this on your shirt”—he tugged at the edge of the loose cotton button-up covering her shoulder holster—“but I think there’s too much chance of you getting it caught on something and us losing the signal. As long as the plan for you to be in the far pasture to repair barbed-wire fencing hasn’t changed?”

  “No, that’s still the plan. It puts me farthest from the house and in the most isolated area of the property. It will be the easiest place to attack me.”

  “Then we definitely want you to be able to talk to us. Under the T-shirt and vest?”

  “Sure.” Meg slipped out of the cotton shirt, unclipped and pulled off her shoulder holster, laying it carefully on a chair, and then stripped off her white T-shirt and bulletproof vest, revealing the sports bra beneath.

  Coleson expertly attached the mic under her sports bra, taping it securely against the skin between her breasts so the mic would rest just above the neckline of the vest. Then he ran the wire under the band of her bra to drop down her back. The transmitter he slipped into her back pocket. “How does that feel? Does the tape pull?”

  “No, feels comfortable.”

  “Good.” Coleson’s gaze shot over her shoulder. “Can I help you?”

  Meg looked over her shoulder to see Webb standing in the open doorway, his sharp eyes taking in the scene. “I was just checking to see if Meg was ready to head out.”

  “Just about.” Meg slipped on her vest and T-shirt, noting that Webb respectfully turned away until she was done strapping the shoulder holster back on. She picked up her other shirt. “Do we need to test this?”

  Agent Stross swiveled away from the equipment spread out across her father’s desk. “Yes. Find another room and we’ll give it a shot.”

  “Sure.” Meg stepped out of the den and walked down the hallway and into a large, comfortable family room with a spacious sectional and a gigantic flat-screen TV. “Testing, testing, one, two, three. Am I coming in clearly, Agent Stross?”

  “You are. You can hear us fine?”

  “Clear as if you were standing right beside me.”

  “Great. Comms are a go.”

  “Then I’m also a go. I’m heading out.” Meg turned to Webb. “Where are you going to be?”

  “I’ve been told McCord and I are starting in the barn.” One eyebrow cocked sardonically. “We’re taking Hawk there to hang out with one of your horses in her stall?”

  “That would be Auria. She and Hawk are buddies. He won’t notice I’m AWOL if he’s with her, and I don’t want him anywhere near this maniac. He could get hurt or he could actually keep the guy from going after me. The rest of the dogs will stay in the house with Cara. So once you get Hawk safely locked down, what’s the plan?”

  “Apparently, we’re mucking out stalls and helping with feeding.”

  “They’re trying to keep you nearby, because that was my requirement, but they’re also trying to keep you out of harm’s way.” She laughed at the way his brows snapped together in displeasure. “I hear you. This is what they say to the man who runs into a burning building when everyone else is running out.”

  “Exactly my point. I could be more useful.”

  “Let’s start here and see how things progress. Go back in there and at least get an earpiece so you know what’s going on. If I need you, I’ll let you know.” She started to turn toward the door. “Now, I’ve got to get out there—”

  He grabbed her by both shoulders, jerking her up on her toes as he pulled her in and kissed her. For a moment, Meg was shocked motionless, and then she relaxed into him, curling her hands into his cotton shirt.

  After what seemed like mere seconds, he pulled back, lowering her down to flat feet and waiting until she had her balance before releasing her. “You be careful out there.”

  “I will be.”

  “No, I mean careful. Don’t be cocky. Don’t be overconfident. You’re smart and you’re strong, but sometimes smart and strong don’t beat crazy, and this one is crazy in spades.”

  She pressed a palm to his smoothly shaved cheek. “I will. Promise.” She pulled back, letting her fingertips run over his skin until her hand dropped.

  “Come back and we’ll pick up where that left off.”

  She flashed him a smile that held substantial promise. “Deal.”

  Meg turned and left the room. It was only then she remembered she was wearing an open mic.

  CHAPTER 25

  Quaker Guns: The traditional Quaker gun was a log that was trimmed, mounted, and painted black to resemble real artillery. During the Civil War, the Confederacy used Quaker guns to compensate for a lack of artillery—at Centreville, Virginia, and during the Siege of Corinth (Mississippi), Quaker guns were deployed to disguise the strategic retreats of Rebel forces.

  Thursday, June 1, 11:52 AM

  Cold Spring Haven Animal Rescue

  Cold Spring Hollow, Virginia

  Leather gloves protecting her hands, Meg carefully twisted the broken barbed wire into a loop, winding the ten-inch tail back onto itself. Picking up the fence stretcher from the ground in front of where she knelt, she slipped one end of it through the loop and then fitted the other end into a matching loop on the other section of broken wire and ratcheted the stretcher tight until it hung suspended over the long, lush grass.

  She sat back on her haunches and pushed back the brim of her hat, wiping sweat off her brow with her forearm. The day was unseasonably warm, and she was overheating in the field, with no shade and the full sun beating down on her from a cloudless sky. The bulletproof vest was a heat trap, and she couldn’t remove her long-sleeved shirt without revealing her shoulder holster, so she was stuck, slowly baking. She’d run out of water an hour ago.

  Meg had been repairing fences out here in the east paddock for over three hours. She was purposely working slowly, trying to stretch what would be a normal half day’s work into a full day, if that’s what it took. Working slowly also had the added bonus of allowing her to pay more attention to her surroundings rather than the familiar, monotonous task of repairing fences. This outer pasture wasn’t used often, only when the overflow of animals required the extra space. Since that hadn’t happened for a while, and hands were badly needed for animals already in the rescue, these repairs were set aside. But now was the perfect time.

  This was also the perfect place. She was a sitting duck out in the open, clearly on her own in the wide pasture, but the forest flanking the Jenningses’ land was only thirty feet behind her and gave excellent cover for anyone attempting to sneak onto the property. The entrance to the rescue was situated at the top of the hill, with the driveway sloping down to the house and buildings below. Anyone coming in from the road would be forced downhill. But the landscape played to their advantage. From the top of the hill, the land funneled down into a hollow and then spread out into wider pastures below. Meg had arranged to have “workers” visible in the lower fields, knowing he’d see them from above and would then be forced into the hollow to keep out of sight. And that’s where he’d trip over her, all by herself.

  There was only a slim chance he planned to climb the eight-hundred-foot hill from the bottom to approach from below. Instead,
he’d park closer and come in from one of the adjacent roads, all of which were conveniently close to I-64 and a quick getaway, once his mission was complete. If he came in from the north, as she predicted, he’d find her conveniently close and would stay far away from the main house. Away from Cara, and Hawk, and Mom and Dad. Away from Webb and McCord.

  Meg surreptitiously scanned the tree line again, but there was no sign of movement.

  Patience. He’ll come.

  She unrolled a new section of wire from the roll of barbed wire in the grass and neatly cut off the desired length with her fencing pliers. A quick flick of her wrist buried the wickedly sharp, pointed pry claw of the pliers in the soft dirt, leaving the handles sticking up at a forty-five-degree angle so they were visible in the long grass. She slipped the wire through the loop on the fence stretcher, making a linking loop and winding the wire back on itself. A second loop on the far side completed the patch job. She released the fence stretcher and the new section of barbed wire swung free.

  “Not bad at all.”

  A dust cloud in the distance caught her attention, and she spotted her father’s old, beat-up pickup, only ever used on the grounds of the rescue, bumping along the dirt track that circled the perimeter of the property. Raising her hand to shade her eyes, she squinted into the distance, but all she could see was the dark shape of someone behind the wheel.

  “Jennings to comm,” she said softly. “I’ve got someone coming in, driving Dad’s pickup.”

  “All clear, Jennings.” It was Stross’s voice. “We sent out some supplies to you. We don’t want you passing out in the field due to dehydration or hypoglycemia. No sign of him yet, so we could be hours more.”