Hour of Need (Scarlet Falls)

by Leigh, Melinda

  “She’s had a shock. I imagine she always thought there’d be time to reconcile with Kate. And now there isn’t.” Grant sighed. “Maybe it’s just as well they weren’t too pushy. I’m not sure he’s ready. He doesn’t ask about the future. He can barely get through today.” Was Grant talking about Carson or himself? “He’ll warm up to them.”

  Hannah stopped and stared at him. “You can’t be thinking of letting those people raise the kids? Or maybe I should say, letting their hired help raise the kids.”

  Ellie agreed with Hannah, but this was the Barretts’ decision, not hers, though her heart broke for Carson. The little boy was attached to Grant. Ellie could relate. She didn’t want to think about Grant leaving.

  “I don’t know,” Grant said. “Are you prepared to quit your job? I’ll be in Afghanistan for at least another month, and it wouldn’t surprise me if my deployment gets extended. It usually does. I could end up overseas until fall. Mac is headed for South America. What else are we going to do?”

  Ellie washed out the baby’s bottle and put it in the dishwasher. Grant leaned back against the counter next to her. He hadn’t shaved today. The blond scruff on his jaw made her think of their lovemaking. She’d never experienced anything that intense—or sweet. Her face heated. She tugged her turtleneck higher, making sure the faint beard burn on her neck was covered.

  She turned and leaned toward him, then stopped midmotion. She’d been leaning in to give him a comforting kiss. That sort of intimate domesticity could never happen between them, but shock filled her at how much she wanted it. Grant was so unlike any other man she’d dated. Strong, reliable, honest. If she allowed herself, she could easily imagine weekends of blissful, boring, ordinariness. Grant looking sexily rumpled. Kissing her with the wicked promise in his eyes that he’d do a lot more at the first opportunity. The family innocent and ignorant of his intent.

  Well, not Nan. She didn’t miss much.

  Ellie’s phone vibrated once. An incoming text. A second buzz in her front pocket reverberated in her hipbone. She felt the blood drain from her head as she pulled out her cell.

  Afraid to look at the display until she was in private, she ducked out of the room with a quick, “excuse me.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Grant following her as she went into the office.

  He closed the door. “Same number as yesterday?”

  “No. It’s a new one.”

  “What does it say?” he prompted.

  She read the message. “Do you have the file?”

  “Type yes.”

  “What?”

  “I’m done screwing around with this guy.” Grant’s eyes chilled to ice blue. “Today, we’re making him a file.”

  A sense of the inevitable filled her. Grant was right. This had to end. Her hands were steady as she typed Yes into the phone and hit Send.

  They stared at each other as nearly five minutes passed.

  “I think your answer surprised him,” Grant said. “Which is good.”

  The return message came in and Ellie read it. “Eight o’clock tonight. Same parking lot as before. Come alone or everyone dies.”

  Turning into the parking lot of St. Vincent’s Thrift Shop, Grant adjusted the wig and slid down in the driver’s seat of Ellie’s minivan. He drove past a brick bungalow on his left and into an asphalt rectangle approximately thirty by sixty. A light fastened to the back of the building cast a puddle of light onto the pavement. Beyond the reach of the single light, darkness waited. The shop was a few blocks from the commercial district, with the closest residence a half mile down the road.

  Plenty of privacy.

  With all senses on high alert, Grant drove to the rear of the lot and parked in the darkest corner. He scanned the surroundings but saw no sign of company. A flip of a switch killed the headlights. The van’s interior dome light had been disabled back at the house. Ellie’s phone sat on the console next to the GPS tracking device. Hoodie Man knew the van was here.

  Where are you, Donnie?

  If Grant had been running an operation like this, he would have arrived early and secured the area. Hoodie Man wasn’t here yet, so he was likely an amateur. Adrenaline flowed hot and fast through Grant’s veins. Tonight he’d face his brother’s killer and find out who’d hired him to kill Lee. Then Grant and his family could begin to heal. He lowered the window to listen to the night. A vehicle engine approached. Tires grated on salt and sand left on the blacktop after the ice had melted.

  A sedan pulled into the lot behind the minivan. So far, so good. The driver got out. In the van’s mirrors, Grant watched the black-clad, hooded figure give the lot a cursory scan before approaching the vehicle. The sedan’s headlights glinted on the metal of a gun. Without speaking, Grant stuck the fake file out the open window. He held it vertically and used it to block his face from view.

  The hooded man stepped forward until he was next to the driver’s side door. He snatched the file, his excitement getting the best of him. Grant’s hand closed on the door handle. He jerked it back and pushed. The door slammed into the man and knocked him off his feet. The gun and file flew out of his hands. They slid across the asphalt, blank sheets of paper scattering in the wind. Grant launched his body out of the vehicle. Fueled by fury, he landed on top.

  Out of his peripheral vision, he glimpsed Mac running out of the adjacent field. Grant had dropped him off well before the meeting to provide cover.

  Straddling his opponent’s chest, Grant yanked back the hood and ripped off the bandana. He raised his hand—and froze.

  It wasn’t Donnie. Corey Swann stared up at Grant.

  “You killed my brother.” Grant’s fingers curled into a fist. He wanted his knife. “I should just slit your throat right here.”

  “Killed your brother?” Corey wheezed as Grant sat on his sternum. “What are you talking about? I didn’t kill anybody.”

  Damn it. Corey must have hired Donnie to kill Lee but hadn’t trusted the hit man to recover the file. “You hired someone to kill him. Same thing.”

  Corey coughed.

  Grant pulled his dad’s KA-BAR from its sheath on his calf and pressed the blade to Corey’s throat. “I know about the GPS. I know you threatened to kill Ellie’s family. I saw the texts you sent, using a burner phone just like your daughter used to torment Lindsay Hamilton.”

  Corey drew a ragged breath. Reluctantly, Grant shifted his weight slightly to let him draw a breath.

  “Yes,” Corey gasped. “I threatened to kill them, but I didn’t hurt anyone. I just wanted that file.”

  “Why?” Grant asked, vaguely aware of Mac coming to stand next to him. “What’s in the file?”

  “I don’t know!” Corey cried. “But your brother found something to implicate my daughter. I had to find out what it was and destroy it.”

  “You don’t even know what it is?” Shock flowed through Grant. This man had hurt people to prevent his daughter from being accused of the crime she committed.

  “No, but whatever it is, no one can find out about it.” Corey’s eyes watered, the moisture shining in the headlights, fear etched in his expression. “All I did was threaten Ellie Ross. That’s it. I was afraid Lee Barrett found enough evidence to convince the police to file charges against my daughter. I couldn’t risk that. Even a civil suit would destroy her future. I won’t let her life be ruined for one mistake.”

  “One mistake? She drove a girl to commit suicide.”

  “She didn’t kill anyone. That girl had mental problems. No one could have predicted she’d hang herself because of a little teasing.”

  “A little teasing? I read the texts she sent to Lindsay,” Grant said. “Your daughter was brutally and intentionally cruel. She taunted that poor girl mercilessly.”

  “Regan had no idea the girl was medicated. I’m sure she wouldn’t have teased her if she did.
” But Corey’s eyes weren’t convinced. He was making excuses and he knew it.

  “You don’t even care, do you?”

  “I need to protect my child.”

  “What about teaching her to be a decent human being? What about forcing her to live with the consequences of her actions? Do you not care what kind of person you’ve borne and raised?”

  Corey’s gaze went flat. Clearly, that ship was halfway to the Caymans.

  Mac tapped Grant on the shoulder. “You can’t kill him.”

  “I can hurt him.” Grant’s blade was poised directly over Corey’s carotid artery, but he could easily move it to a less fatal location.

  “Grant, let’s call the cops,” Mac said. “We need to find Donnie.”

  Donnie. Shit. Donnie could be anywhere.

  Grant grabbed Corey by the hair and pressed his knife to his throat. “I can take your whole fucking head off from this angle. So where is he, Corey? Where’s Donnie?”

  Corey’s face twisted with resentment. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You can’t kill him.” Mac pulled out his phone and punched numbers.

  But Grant wanted to. Listening to his brother summon the police, red hazed Grant’s vision. Rage muddied his thoughts. This man had threatened to kill Ellie’s family, and now he was holding back information. As soon as the cops got here, Corey would shut up and call a lawyer.

  “Grant!” Mac yanked on his shoulder. “You can’t kill him.”

  That caught Grant’s attention. He straightened, removing the knife from Corey’s throat. Corey’s head fell onto the ground, and his body shook with self-pitying sobs. Grant stood and sheathed his knife.

  “What now?” Mac asked. “The cops will be here any minute.”

  “We tie him to something, and we split up. Do you want the house or the skating rink?” Grant looked behind him. Corey’s sedan was still running. “I’ll take his car. Hopefully the cops will be able to get him to talk.”

  Sand grated on blacktop. Grant whirled toward the sound as Corey launched his body at his legs. Grant sprawled, his legs shooting back, his weight coming down on the back of Corey’s shoulders. Corey hit the pavement face-first and went still.

  “So much for questioning him,” Mac said. “Now how are we going to find out where Donnie is?”

  Grant poked Corey with his boot. No response. “Hey, I didn’t expect the idiot to try and tackle me. I didn’t even hit him. Fool fell down and knocked himself out.”

  “Doesn’t matter how it happened.” Mac lifted his palms. “An unconscious man can’t tell us anything.”

  “Shit.” Grant sheathed his knife and swept both hands through his hair. What now? He nodded toward the vehicle. “I have some zip ties in the van.”

  “Here.” Mac handed the plastic fasteners over Grant’s shoulder.

  He bound Corey’s wrists behind his back. He dragged the man by his feet to the building and zip-tied him to the natural gas pipe running from the meter into the ground. “I’ll call McNamara from the car, explain everything, and get him to send men to the house and the rink.”

  Mac was running for the minivan. “Where do you want me?”

  “I don’t know.” Grant ran for the sedan. “Donnie was after Carson and Julia. I have to make sure they’re safe. Ellie is at the rink with Julia.”

  But which one would Donnie go after?

  The ice rink was a very public place. When Grant had dropped off Ellie and Julia, dozens of parents had crowded the bleachers and lobby. The house was the easier target, and Carson, who’d gotten a clearer view of Donnie, was the better witness. Chances were, Donnie would be going after the boy. Also, the rink was all the way across town. Mac might not even get there before the police.

  “I’ll take the house. You head for the rink.” Grant drove off. He called the cop. Though supremely pissed off, McNamara promised to send units to both the rink and house ASAP. Grant shoved the gas pedal to the floor. He’d get there first. He’d call Hannah and Ellie and put them both on alert. His instinct told him the ambush on Corey had gone all wrong. Punching numbers on his phone, he ran through a stop sign, the case whirling in his mind. Grant had missed an important piece of information. Now all he could do was hope his failure wouldn’t cost the people he loved their lives.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Donnie parked his van down the street from the Barrett house. He’d had it with these people. He was tired of being jerked around. That applied to his client as well. He’d killed two people for that loser. Sure, he’d enjoyed the act, but he still deserved to be compensated for his effort and risk. Motherfucking coward was too chicken to do his own dirty work. Well, he was going to pay up. Donnie was a killer. Nobody was going to fuck with him.

  His mind wandered back to the night he’d strangled his girlfriend. Her death was an accident, but what a rush! Donnie still got chills thinking about his submissive’s final session. That night was going to be hard to beat. He was going to have to find a new place to crash. Even on ice, she’d been getting ripe enough for the neighbors to smell. It was far too risky to go back to her trailer. But first, he needed to get this job behind him.

  He opened the back of the van and pulled out a backpack. Mentally, he tacked an extra 10 percent on to his invoice. His aggravation and effort didn’t come cheap. Shrugging into the backpack, Donnie took out the gas cans and headed down the street. If he couldn’t find that motherfucking one piece of evidence, he’d destroy it. It had to be in that house somewhere. If the house was incinerated, the evidence would be history, and the little fucker who’d IDed him would be gone, too. Donnie was never going back to prison.

  Enough was enough. He was through with this shit. In the next ten minutes, the whole cluster would be behind him.

  He’d find his client, demand his payment, and be on a fucking beach in fucking Florida by fucking next weekend.

  The big house loomed against the clear, black sky. The place was ugly as sin anyway. Donnie was doing everyone a favor by burning it to the ground. He walked across the front lawn, massive snowmelt leaving the grass squishy underfoot. At the corner of the porch, he picked up the first can and started pouring. The sharp scent of gasoline punched through the night air. He splashed can number two across the clapboards along the side of the house. Kneeling on the soggy ground, he opened the backpack and pulled out handfuls of roman candles, bottle rockets, and a round box called a cake, some combination of pyrotechnics that could be lighted all at once. Whatever. Donnie didn’t need a carefully calculated explosion. He just needed a nice, raging fire. The time for finesse had passed. This old tinderbox of a house ought to burn hot. He’d rid himself of the evidence and his witnesses in one big whoosh of fire.

  Excitement zinged through his blood as he piled the fireworks on the porch, stepped back, and lit the closest fuse.

  Sitting cross-legged on the family room area rug, Hannah ended the call with her brother. Goose bumps rose on her arms as she thought of Lee and Kate’s killer coming after the children. Next to her, Faith wriggled on a blanket. Hannah had been flipping her onto her belly for rollover practice and some hopefully tiring exercise. Faith rolled onto her back and squealed with joy. Nan was knitting on the sofa, her booted foot elevated on the ottoman. Kneeling at the coffee table next to the older woman, Carson colored a picture. The dog snoozed, her head resting on Carson’s leg.

  The quiet, peaceful scene stirred fear in Hannah’s belly. Everyone in that room depended on her to keep them safe. The enormity of the responsibility outweighed any deal she’d negotiated.

  Hannah picked up the babbling baby and set her on her hip. Though she curled toward Hannah’s body for support, Faith held her own head and upper body weight. Hannah went into the laundry room and checked the alarm panel. The green light flashed, letting her know the system was up and running with no issues. She carried Faith to the livi
ng room. Standing to one side, she peered through the window but saw no movement outside. They moved from room to room. Hannah didn’t see any signs of trouble or company through any of the windows, but her spine tingled and her belly cramped. Something was happening. She could feel danger approaching.

  Or had Grant’s warning call fired up her paranoia?

  The dog rushed past. A low growl emanated from her throat. Hannah followed her to the window.

  Movement at the corner of the house caught her attention. A shadow stretched across the grass. Someone was outside. She moved closer to the glass. At the edge of the porch, a glow flared brightly and then dimmed, briefly illuminating a man’s figure. Next to Hannah, AnnaBelle barked.

  Oh. Shit.

  Fire.

  Hannah hugged the baby close. Dialing 911 on her cell phone, she inhaled her panic and rushed down the hall. The house was set up as a fort, with everything aimed at keeping the inhabitants secure. Getting them all out quickly hadn’t been included in the plan. Thank God they were all in the same room. The dog raced from window to window.

  “I need everyone to go out the back door right now.” She spied the detached garage through the kitchen window. She snagged the keys from a bowl on the kitchen counter on her way past. “We’re all going to the garage and getting in the minivan.”

  Nan’s eyes caught Hannah’s. Alarm registered. “Let’s hurry, Carson.”

  With one hand, Hannah grabbed the crutches in the corner and handed them to Nan.

  A whistle and boom sounded from the front of the house. Carson screamed and covered his ears with both hands. Faith wailed.

  “Don’t wait for me. Get the kids out of here.” Nan took the crutches and gave Hannah a push. “Go!”

  Hannah swallowed her indecision. With her sprained wrist, the older woman could barely hobble across the room on crutches. The children had to come first. Hating every step, she ran for the back door.

  “AnnaBelle!” Carson cried as Hannah pushed him over the threshold. Fire crackled behind them, and Hannah could hear the dog still barking from the living room. She whistled. Leaving the door open, she ran for the garage. Carson turned back toward the house, calling for Nan and the dog in a pitiful, frightened scream. Hannah dragged him toward the garage.