by Davis, Mary
Thirteen
Roger threw down the phone and raced for the door. He opened then closed it as quickly. Two men in an unmarked sedan—the Feds had found him too. He was slipping. He went to the bathroom, jimmied open the window, and jumped down next to his bike. It roared to life, and dirt spewed out behind him.
He was familiar with the neighborhood of the address Sweeny had given him. An abandoned building or warehouse no doubt. Sweeny couldn’t be original. But he had no doubt the man would carry out his threat.
He turned right into the heavy morning traffic. Instead of squeezing between bumpers, he drove alongside the right lane. Sweeny knew it could easily take him twice as long as the time he allowed because of the morning rush. Lord, show me the fast, clear route.
He moved to the left lane and swerved between a white sedan and a green minivan. The sedan’s horn blasted him. “I know—I’m sorry.” Why was he apologizing? No one could hear him. Habit. He knew better. He wasn’t driving this way on purpose. He hated it when people drove with no regard for the rules of the road. On a bike it was all the more dangerous. He hoped there were no cops in the vicinity.
If he took the Lakehills Connector, he might be able to shave off a little time. Every second counted. This was the right turn he needed to take. He cut off a blue pickup and was rewarded with a rude gesture. “Sorry.” A steady line of cars wound down the hill. He followed the road down and up the other side. The left-turn lane had too many vehicles for them all to make it through, especially with a heavy construction truck in third place. He pulled out and drove on the yellow line up next to the lead car. In his head he could hear the kinds of comments being yelled at him and couldn’t blame anyone.
One question kept coming back to him: How could he keep the CD and still free his family?
Let it go.
But all the account numbers. And I will look as guilty as the rest when this comes down. Sweeny would make sure of it. ICOM had already filed reports against him with the police.
Trust Me!
It’s so hard to let this go. I don’t know if I can. He thought of Paul in prison continuing his ministry, writing letters, and encouraging the church. And John was not hindered from writing Revelation when he was exiled to the island of Patmos. And Roger Villeroy would continue living for Jesus even if he was imprisoned. Okay. It’s Yours. I turn it over to You—again.
The light turned green, and he darted off the starting line ahead of everyone.
❧
Jackie wanted to tell RJ to run away before the bad man got back, but she was afraid he would fall through the floor. He clung to her left leg. He probably wouldn’t go even if she told him to.
She took hold of the wrought-iron bar and shoved it back and forth. The metal bowed, but she saw no sign of its coming free. She kicked the pole with her injured leg and winced. Searing pain bit her toes and seized her calf. She closed her eyes, clenched her teeth, and held her breath until the stabbing sensation subsided. She slumped to the floor on her good leg. RJ curled up against her with his head on her thigh and whimpered himself to sleep with an occasional ragged chocoe. She had to get him out of here.
Once again she gripped the bar with both hands and tugged. It didn’t budge. The bolts in the ceiling and floor were secure. Her captor had found the one room where the floor wasn’t rotting. She hit the bar with her palm in frustration and dropped her forehead against the cold metal. At least she didn’t fear falling through the floor.
None of this had to happen. She should have trusted Roger from the start—instead of playing the wounded victim—believed someone was after him, and given him the CD. This was all her fault. Why had she insisted on playing this power-struggle game? She hadn’t seen it as that until now.
At the sound of footsteps, she raised her head. Please be Roger. He didn’t come in but instead walked around. Should she call to him? What if it wasn’t Roger? He made too much noise to be Roger. She could hear splashing and the strong smell of gasoline.
A minute or so later, her captor appeared in the doorway, a satisfied grin on his face that she was still there. “Your soon-to-be-dearly-departed is on his way.”
The news gave her no comfort. The man was setting a trap, and she and RJ were the bait. There are those who would use you and RJ to get to me. Roger’s words haunted her.
He squatted down next to her and fondled her hair. “After I take care of Villeroy, I might let you convince me to keep the two of you alive.”
“I would rather die.”
“All part of the fun. But you might want to reconsider for the boy’s sake.” He glanced down at RJ.
“Let him go. He’s too young to remember anything.”
“In this decaying building? He might get hurt and suffer to death. I’ll be doing him a favor.” His cold penetrating blue gaze stabbed her heart.
She could never let that happen. Lord, it doesn’t matter what happens to me. Don’t let RJ suffer and die.
The man reached over and lifted RJ from her side. She wrestled for her son, grabbing hold of a piece of RJ’s jeans. “Don’t take him!”
He jerked RJ free from her grasp. “I need him to make sure Villeroy doesn’t try any heroics.” RJ struggled in his grasp and screamed.
She scrambled to her feet. “Take me instead.”
He held RJ under one of his arms and around RJ’s stomach. “This little guy will work better for what I have in mind.”
“Wouldn’t it be better to have us both to negotiate with?”
“There won’t be any negotiations.” He turned to walk out.
She pulled against her restraints. “Please take me. I’ll do anything you want.”
He turned back with his glacial blue eyes. “I know you will.” He disappeared out of sight with her son. RJ’s cries became more distant until she could no longer hear him.
She balanced on her good leg and yanked the handcuffs against the wrought iron. Maybe she could get the chain to break. She pushed and pulled on the divider, but it still wouldn’t budge. Her wrists were red and bruised. Frustrated tears sprang to her eyes. She crumpled to the floor against the pole. “Take me.” But she knew he could no longer hear her, and she cried.
❧
He was making good time despite the heavy traffic. Another green light. Thank You, Lord. He arrived miraculously with two minutes to spare and to assess his surroundings. He parked down the block so as not to forewarn Sweeny of his arrival. Indeed Sweeny had picked the cliché abandoned building, a dilapidated apartment house. If he simply wanted the CD in exchange for Jackie and RJ’s release, he would have chosen someplace open and public. But he wanted Roger dead and no witnesses to rat on him. So where else could he make the exchange in broad daylight and dispose of Roger and Jackie while still remaining anonymous? What if he had already harmed one or both of them? He clenched and unclenched his fists at his side. Sweeny would regret it for the rest of his sorry life. He ought to go in there and— He took a deep breath to clear his mind and focus. He would be no good to Jackie and RJ if he rushed in on pure emotions.
Lord, guide and direct my steps. He remembered the verses in Psalms that had been his battle prayer for years. “I do not trust in my bow, my sword does not bring me victory; but you give us victory over our enemies, you put our adversaries to shame. In God we make our boast all day long, and we will praise your name forever.” But this was the first time the beginning phrases of the verse struck him. His gun would not bring him victory. Only the Lord would. Never before had he viewed his Glock as insignificant. The victory is Yours, Lord.
He glanced at the front exterior door and shook his head—that was where he was supposed to enter. He circled around to the side and found a broken basement window. To have even a small element of surprise could be all he needed. He pulled his gun and climbed through the window. The pile of old newspapers he landed on was damp and made almost no noise. He could hear RJ’s fervent crying, and his gut twisted. The smell of gasoline hung in the air. So Sweeny
planned to burn their bodies in a condemned building fire. Not a bad tactic. Save the taxpayers a few dollars not to have to tear it down.
He crept up the stairs and was thankful none of them creaked. He slowly opened the door at the top of the stairs but stopped when it moaned. With RJ’s persistent wailing, he doubted Sweeny heard it. He eased the door more slowly, enough to squeeze through. He came out at the intersection of two hallways. The doors down the long corridors seemed close together and weirdly reminiscent of his frequent nightmare. RJ’s crying gripped his heart, wrenching it in two. I’m coming, Son.
Sweeny would be where he had a good view of the front entrance. Roger pointed his Glock in that direction and followed RJ’s plaintive howling. The floor bowed slightly beneath him.
Most of the side wall of the front apartment was gone, and he had a clear view inside. The smell of gasoline was stronger here. Sweeny was on the far side of what was left of the room with a rope held tightly in his grasp, looking out a broken window. The man’s gun was drawn and ready.
Roger crouched down. He had a clear shot and raised his gun.
Sweeny turned and looked up. “Shut up, you little brat! Your old man will be here real soon.”
Roger looked up too, through the gaping hole in the wall. He adjusted his position until he could see RJ flailing from the other end of Sweeny’s rope. It was tied around RJ’s underarms. The ceiling in this apartment was also missing, and RJ dangled some twenty feet in the air.
He lowered his gun and put a palm to his forehead. Sweeny was getting more cunning. But where was Jackie?
“Come on, Villeroy! I haven’t got all day!” Sweeny shouted.
Roger crept back down the hall to the opened door of the partial apartment. He could go through the apartment undetected and come up on Sweeny’s blind side. But first a distraction so Sweeny wouldn’t hear him coming.
He went back to the wall that mostly wasn’t there.
“Your old man’s late, Kid. I oughta shut you up for good.”
“I’m here,” he called through the huge opening but remained out of sight.
“So you snuck in the back way.”
Not exactly.
“I was beginning to worry about you. Would hate for you to have gotten in a nasty accident.”
I bet. “Where’s Jackie?”
“Don’t worry about her. You have more pressing matters. Do you have the disc?”
“I want to see Jackie first!”
“She’s safe and sound in a cozy little upstairs apartment. The disc?”
He checked the magazine in his gun and holstered it. “Let my son go, and I’ll give it to you.”
“Give it to me, and I’ll let him go.”
He would like to give it to him. “Lower him first.”
Sweeny let the rope go for a second and caught it again. RJ dropped a couple of feet and jerked to a stop. “Like that?”
Roger’s heart stopped. RJ screamed.
Sweeny hoisted RJ back up.
“Okay. I’ll give it to you.” RJ had dropped only a couple of feet, but it was sudden. Regardless of the disc, he wouldn’t let Sweeny get away with toying with his family.
“Come out where I can see you.”
“So you can shoot me.” He pulled the disc from his pocket.
“It’s either you or him.”
“You’ll let him down easy once you have it?” Let Sweeny think he had him cornered and scared. He was scared but not for himself.
“Just give me the disc or he becomes part of the floor.”
“I’m tossing it in.” He held the envelope containing the CD like a Frisbee and gave his wrist a flick. It’s Yours, Lord. It landed close enough to his mark. He hustled back down the hall and around the corner to the open apartment door then crept across the spongy floor.
Sweeny was bending over picking up the envelope. “You’re a sucker, Villeroy. Come out where I can see you, or your boy comes down on express.” Sweeny tucked the disc in his pocket.
Whatever you say. He rushed toward Sweeny, aiming for the rope. He rammed Sweeny in the side and took hold of the rope with one hand. The rope slid through his hand burning his palms. He grabbed hold with both hands and stopped RJ’s descent.
Sweeny lost his footing. His gun spun on the floor and dropped down an open register vent. Roger swung around and clipped Sweeny in the head with his boot. He let the rope slide gently through his hands. RJ seemed mildly comforted by his presence but was still screaming.
Sweeny stood to his feet, blood dripping from his lip, and came at him. Roger tightened his grip on the rope. Sweeny broadsided him, knocking the air from Roger’s lungs. Regardless he had to keep a tight hold of the rope. He struggled to draw a breath. Sweeny tried to pry the rope from his hand. He managed to push him off and inhale. As Sweeny stood to his feet and rushed at him again, Roger ducked and kicked him in the ribs. Sweeny sprawled on the floor, clutching his stomach.
Roger wrapped the rope around his left arm and grasped it with one hand. He reached in his coat and drew his gun. As Sweeny scampered like a rat through the doorway and out of sight, Roger squeezed off a shot. Missed.
❧
Jackie froze at the sound of a gunshot. “Rogerrr!” The sudden image of his healed bullet wound blinded her momentarily. Don’t let him be dead. I want another chance.
She pulled on the cuffs until a trickle of blood rolled down onto her wrist. She stopped and watched her blood soak into her jeans. Was Roger bleeding to death somewhere in this building? Tears rolled down her cheeks, and her shoulders shook with silent sobs.
Fourteen
Roger holstered his gun and lowered RJ hand over hand. “I’ve got you, Son.” His precious son was in his arms again. RJ clutched him around the neck. Thank You, Lord. He loosened the slip knot at RJ’s back and pried his son’s little arms from around his neck long enough to pull the rope over his head. RJ clamped his arms back around his neck.
A sudden wall of flames whooshed to life on the other side of the gaping hole. “You can’t save them both,” Sweeny yelled above the roar.
Roger glanced at the hungry fire. Did he really have to choose? If he took RJ with him to search for Jackie, all three of them might perish. If he left RJ outside, at least he would live.
The smoke grew heavier. He tucked RJ into the front of his coat and covered his face. He had to find the clear path Sweeny had left for himself. He couldn’t be so stupid as not to have thought of an escape route.
Out in the hall the smoke was thicker. He put his free arm over his mouth and nose. The bulk of the blaze was around the front door. He dashed in the opposite direction and caught his foot in a hole in the floor, nearly dropping RJ. He jerked his foot free and stayed close to the wall, testing the mushy floor as he went. The smoke burned his lungs, and he coughed.
He reached the back door. Though the door was open, boards were nailed across the frame. He raised a foot and broke two boards loose in the bottom half. Kicking again to clear them out of the way, he ducked through the doorway and down the steps.
Oh, Jackie. His heart pounded. His eyes watered. I’ll be back for you.
A heavy mist blanketed the air. He knelt in the damp grass and opened his coat.
RJ looked up at him and blinked. “Chocoe?”
Roger shrugged. “I don’t understand.”
“JJ chocoe.” His breathing was still ragged from so much crying, but he was safe.
“You stay here, Son.” He looked back at the building, smoke pouring from it. He had to go back. Was Jackie even in there? He hadn’t seen or heard any evidence of her. She could already be dead. Sweeny could have had her someplace else entirely. But he knew he had to search this place first. Once inside, he wouldn’t likely come back out. He hoped the sacrifice wasn’t for nothing.
RJ started back toward the building. “Mama.”
Roger picked him up.
RJ started to cry again. “Want Mama. Want Mama!”
That was good enough for hi
m. “You stay here, and I’ll find Mommy.” He set RJ back down.
RJ walked straight for the burning building again.
Roger picked him up once more. “You have to stay out here.
RJ held out a hand toward the building, crying. “Mama.”
Precious seconds were being wasted! How could he make RJ understand? He couldn’t go back in if RJ was going to follow him.
❧
The evil odor of smoke had replaced the smell of gasoline. She was going to burn to death! One shot. One dead. Roger? Or could it have been RJ? Had Roger even made it here? Which one? Her chest tightened. RJ! She couldn’t hear him crying anymore. Had that horrible man taken RJ with him? No! As long as she had breath, she would do all she could to keep RJ from him and safe. She yanked and thrashed, pulling on the wrought-iron bar and the cuffs. Neither would budge. She stopped her flurry and stood motionless. There had to be a way out of this. The bolts. She tried to turn the bolts with her fingers. They remained tight. She shook the bar and tried again. Nothing.
Tears stung her eyes more from smoke than frustration. The pole was immovable as were the bolts. That left only the cuffs, and unlocking them was out of the question. The one around her right wrist was almost tight enough to cut off circulation. All that remained was the cuff around her left wrist, and there was only one way it would come off—even if she had to lose her hand to do it.
She pulled the cuff as far down on her hand as she could. Pressing her bones together and pulling her skin under the cuff, she moved the cuff across her bruises and further down her hand. She had heard of a woman in the Oklahoma City building bombing who had literally sacrificed her blood to keep her child alive. And she would do no less for hers.
The smoke was thickening, and she coughed. It was comforting to know the smoke would get her before the flames. She ground the cuff further down. The cuff was stuck on the lower thumb bone and knuckle bone of her little finger. She’d have to yank it, ripping her skin. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath and coughed out charred air. A sharp pain bit into her hand as she jerked on the cuff, but it was no closer to coming off. She ignored the pain and kept pulling. She wasn’t strong enough to get the metal over the bones. She squeezed and pressed her hand bones as if dislocating them but without the added pain of dislocation. The cuff budged a little.
