She drew a deep breath, searching for the stoicism she wished she could present Wayne. Despite her best efforts, her sigh still shuddered with emotion. As Wayne emerged from the bathroom, she firmed her jaw and forced steel in her spine. She met his gloating grin with disdain in her glare.
“Problem solved. Now, keep it quiet in here.” Wayne strode to the door and shot them a minatory look. “Nothing has gone right today, and I’ve got to make a new plan.”
Chapter 6
Pressing his hand over the throbbing wound just under his arm, Wayne sank onto the sofa and rocked his head back to stare at the ceiling. The cottage-cheese texturing overhead was the same kind he’d had on his bedroom ceiling as a kid. Unlike this one, the ceiling in his bedroom had had spider webs dangling in the corners and a water stain by the light. He’d stared at the popcorn bumps many a night listening to his parents argue...or screw. Or hearing his mother rant about nonsense when she’d get high.
His bedroom had grown silent at night the day his mother OD’d. She’d gone out to meet up with her dealer and had never come back. No great loss there, he’d told himself stoically. With her death, he and his dad were free to do their own thing. Move around the country. Never look back.
Only time he missed her was when his dad vented the drunken rage he used to take out on his mom on him. The beatings forced Wayne to grow up fast. He’d learned to hide on the nights his dad drank, and as he gained his own muscle, he’d learned to fight back. His dad said facing the belt had toughened him up, taught him respect. Maybe it had. Mostly the beatings added bitterness to the love-hate relationship he’d had with his old man.
Moving slowly, Wayne raised his feet to the couch and stretched out, his gut full of sour reproach. If his dad could see how things had gotten screwed up today, he’d be laughing his ass off. Or smacking him around to teach him a lesson. He’d scorned his dad for checking out at the St. Louis hit. Today, Wayne had blown a much smaller job. Who was the real screwup?
His head swam muzzily as his pain pill started kicking in, and Wayne closed his eyes, his dad’s voice echoing in his head. Rule number one is don’t get caught.
He could still remember the night his dad had first suggested holding up a bank. They’d already robbed a couple of convenience stores and mugged an old lady as she left an ATM. His dad got the notion to do a bigger job after watching some old Western on TV. Wayne couldn’t remember now how old he’d been at that time. He’d learned to mark days according to the different places they’d lived, staying one step ahead of the law.
“We could do that,” his dad had said as the movie’s bank robbers rode out of town on horseback, whooping over their success. They’d been in West Virginia. Early November. He knew that because he’d been nursing a stomachache after eating a whole bag of fun-size Snickers they’d bought on clearance the day after Halloween. A storm had blown up outside, and the bare branches of the hickory tree in their yard had been clawing the window in an eerie way, like a goblin trying to break into their house. He hadn’t been scared. Not of the storm or the scratching sounds at the window. But his father’s plan to escalate their thievery disturbed him. His dad was getting greedy. Even then Wayne had known his father’s greed would lead to carelessness. To mistakes that could get them caught. Jailed.
He dreaded the idea of prison more than death. Penned up for the rest of his life. Trapped in a steel-and-concrete cage. No sir. That was not for him.
Wayne’s stomach growled, and he slid his hand from his aching side to his belly. Lilly had to have something around this place he could eat. Wincing as the bandage pulled at his wound, he climbed off the couch and investigated the shelves of her pantry. He found potato chips. Baked. He rolled his eyes. What a waste of a potato.
Her bread was whole grain, and the closest thing to lunch meat in her refrigerator was some funky, swanky cheese spread that smelled like feet. He returned to her pantry and located a jar of peanut butter. No sugar added. He frowned. What was wrong with the woman? Was she afraid of flavor? Didn’t matter how much “health food” you ate or how much you exercised, everyone died eventually. And even the fittest people got cancer.
Fuming silently over the injustice of the disease that had changed the course of his life, he slapped together a couple of sandwiches and searched the refrigerator for something to wash down his dinner.
Spying a yuppie IPA from some microbrewery he’d never heard of, he scoffed at Lilly’s choice of beer and pulled out one of the squatty bottles. Tucking the bag of chips under his arm, he carried his sandwiches and drink into the living room and settled on the sofa to eat. He used the remote on the coffee table to turn on the small flat-screen television and scrolled through the channels. He paused briefly on a movie channel playing Shawshank Redemption and shuddered. No way in hell he’d ever go to prison. He’d eat a bullet before he’d let himself be caged like an animal.
He scrolled on through the channels until the image on the screen stopped him. His face. Blurry and in black and white. Shaded by his hoodie. But definitely him. A screen shot from a surveillance camera at the bank.
He’d known security cameras were everywhere these days. He’d worn the hoodie for that reason. Somehow during the robbery, the hood had slid back far enough to capture a shot of his face. Hell and damnation!
He gripped his sandwich so hard the peanut butter oozed out onto his hand. He licked the mess from his fingers and hiked up the sound. The local news was detailing the bank hit and warning the community to be on the lookout for him. Not to approach him, as he was believed to be armed and dangerous.
Wayne sat back and chuckled to himself. Armed and dangerous. He liked that. He should get it tattooed on his back or something.
As he took another large bite of his sandwich, he realized that the news broadcast—his image being sent out to viewers in the area—complicated his escape. With all eyes watching for him, hoping to cash in on the reward offered for him, his chances of getting out of town unnoticed had just grown slimmer. His best bet now might be to hunker down here at Lilly’s for the long haul and let the hunt for him cool down.
The image on the screen blurred, and when he blinked, his eyelids were heavy. His pills were kicking in, making his head feel thick, slow. Sleepy. But before he’d nap, he had one more thing to do with his hostages. Grunting in pain, he hauled himself off the couch and picked up the revolver.
* * *
After Wayne had left, closing the bedroom door behind him, Lilly had wilted against Dave. The stress of the past few hours had sapped her energy, and one of the tears she’d tried to hold at bay leaked through the fringe of her eyelashes.
“So...add one phone to the list of items he owes you,” Dave said, clearly trying to keep his tone light, but the underlying anger was palpable.
Scoffing, she rolled her eyes. “I’m as likely to get a new phone outta Wayne as I am to get next month’s alimony outta Alan.”
“Alan, huh? I guess I never knew you were married.”
“Was married. Definitely past tense. For the last five years.” She tried to dry the teardrop from her cheek with her shoulder but couldn’t reach the right spot, so she let it slide down and drip from her chin. With a sniff, she tried to compose herself. Knowing that Wayne was going to sleep for a while, she allowed herself to lower her guard, just a bit, needing the break to recoup a bit of her own mental focus and strength.
“That would explain why Helen didn’t mention a husband in connection to you.”
“Yeah. She was pretty offended on my behalf when we found out about Alan’s other women. She was content to wash her hands of him when it ended and encouraged me to do the same.”
“Women...plural?” Dave asked.
“Mmm-hmm. You caught that, huh? He was a serial cheater.” She really didn’t want to rehash the whole Alan debacle right now. Her nerves were raw enough as it was.
Dave made a soft, no
ndescript sound, then muttered, “Sorry.”
“Not your fault.”
“No, but between Alan and Wayne, I’m not feeling too good about being among the male representatives in your life. Especially knowing you’re not too keen on me, either.”
“Yeah, well.” Lilly shoved down the sour taste at the back of her throat. Now was not the time for an Alan pity party. She had moved on. She told herself this surge of heartache and bruised emotions was just a symptom of her current vulnerability and fatigue. She purposely shifted her thoughts. Groaned aloud. “Geez, I hope I backed my photos up to the cloud. I can reconstruct my contact list, but I had pictures on that phone of—” Helen. She swallowed, unable to push the name out past the sharp constriction of grief that strangled her.
“Yeah,” Dave murmured, and his fingers groped to find hers again and squeeze.
As much as she appreciated his attempt to sympathize with her, his comforting gesture only wrenched the knot choking her tighter.
“Do you know what kind of cancer he has?” Dave asked after a moment of silence.
“No. He wouldn’t talk about it. But based on where his scar is, I’m guessing breast or lung.”
“Huh.”
“What? Men can get breast cancer, too.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Why does the kind of cancer he has matter?”
She felt Dave lift a shoulder. “Don’t know.” He kept his voice quiet, barely more than a whisper. “I guess I’m just trying to gather any information I can. Putting together a picture of who and what we’re dealing with.”
She wasn’t sure how Wayne’s cancer could provide them an escape, but she knew Dave was on the right track. Gathering information of all kinds could yield something unexpected. “If I can get alone with him, I’ll see what I can learn about him, his family, his plans for us.”
A low rumbling sound vibrated from Dave’s chest and into her own. “I don’t like the idea of you being alone with him.”
Lilly sighed. “I don’t, either, but I feel like he’ll be more open with me if you’re not around. I don’t think he likes or trusts you.”
“Well, it’s mutual.”
“Dave, hostility will only work against us. I want him to see us as more than just hostages, but as people with lives, with feelings, with potential that will be lost if he kills us. I think I can form a personal bond with him if I’m given the chance to talk with him.”
Dave sighed. “That’s all well and good, but that kind of plan takes time. I don’t get the impression we have time to chitchat and reason with him. I think our best plan is to try to get out of this tape and make our escape while he’s asleep.”
“Get out of the tape? How?” Lilly tested the tape around her wrists and winced as the adhesive ripped the fine hair on her arm.
“Well, he used your packing tape, right? Packing tape generally has lower tensile strength than something like duct tape. I think we can tear or saw through it.”
She chuffed a short laugh in disbelief. “With what?”
“My keys are in my pocket. I can’t reach them, but you might be able to.”
Lilly’s pulse tripped. “Okay. But...”
When she didn’t finish her comment, trying to think through the ramifications, Dave said gently, “But what?”
She swallowed hard and glanced at the door. “I just think...we need to have the whole plan worked out. If we get our hands and legs free, but wake Wayne in the process or can’t get out of this room, he’ll just tie us up again with something sturdier. And we’ll lose any advantage we might have. He could even get ticked off enough, panicked enough, that he shoots us rather than risk our getting away and reporting him.”
“I suppose. But I’d hate to waste what may be our best chance to free ourselves. If we get out of these restraints, maybe the two of us could surprise him, overpower him.”
She imagined that scenario in her head, and fear rippled through her. “He has a gun.”
“I know. That has to be our main consideration going forward. Disarming him eliminates our main threat and levels the playing field, so that is priority one. Despite my bum leg, I think I can be faster than him. It’s something we practice when it comes to calf roping.”
She chuckled mildly, trying to lighten the mood despite their circumstances. “Calves carry guns these days?”
“No.” His tone acknowledged her attempt at humor, then he explained, “But you want to subdue them as quickly as possible. And with as little struggling. The more they struggle, the more likely they’ll hurt themselves. Or you. A calf hoof to the face could break your jaw or concuss you or...” He sighed. “Never mind all that. Point is, I think I can get the gun from him...if my hands are free.”
“And how do we do that?”
“If you lie on your side and scoot close to me, I’m betting you can get your hand in my pocket and get my keys.”
Lilly visualized what he was describing, and heat flashed through her. She didn’t miss the fact that she’d be groping blindly around his crotch, her fanny snuggled close to him. “O-kay.” When her voice cracked, she cleared her throat. “I—I can do that.”
At least Dave had a plan, was making an attempt to free them. That was more than she had.
“Good. C’mon.” He straightened his leg and lay back on the floor to give her access to his pocket.
She wiggled away from him a few inches, scooting her bottom across the floor, and stretched out beside him. Lying on her side, facing away from him, she reached with her bound hand to find him. She heard him shift, groaning as he scooted closer.
“Are you okay?”
“The change in position made my head throb and the room spin, but I’ll live.”
And he was dealing with a leg that hadn’t finished healing from serious surgery a few months ago. Despite his assertions to the contrary, Dave would be at a disadvantage should their attempt to get away lead to a physical confrontation. But Wayne was contending with cancer pain and his gunshot wound...
Lilly closed her eyes as Dave snuggled up behind her, and she sent up a prayer that they wouldn’t have to find out whose injuries were the greater liability.
As he positioned himself, Dave’s body heat, his soap-and-leather scent enveloped her, and the occasional brush of his thigh against hers or his chest at her back sent a tingling sensation to her belly. With her wrists taped together, her range of motion was seriously restricted as she felt blindly for his pocket. Her fingers found the soft cotton of his T-shirt over the taut plain of his belly, and he hissed.
She jerked her hand back. “What? Did I hurt you?”
“No. I’m...ticklish.” Was that embarrassment she detected in his tone?
He grunted. “Ignore me. Just...try again. Lower.” His body skimmed along hers as he moved to better align her hands with their target.
An awkward awareness shot through her, along with a ripple of something she refused to call pleasure. She was not, not, not attracted to her late sister’s boyfriend.
Chapter 7
Lilly’s hands trembled as she tentatively searched behind her. She found the stiffer denim of his jeans, felt a belt loop, the cold metal of the button at his fly. With a gulp, her fingers skittered away from the button like a spider retreating from a broom.
“Come on, Lilly. You can do it. This is no time to be shy,” he said, and his breath fanned the back of her neck. A not-unpleasant shiver swept down her spine. She clenched her teeth and scolded herself. Get it together, Lil. This is no more sexual than when you treat injured men in the ER. Now suck it up, and do your job.
“Right,” she muttered aloud, steeling herself. She groped again, found the edge of his pocket and wiggled lower so she could push her fingers inside. Tight as his jeans were, her movement was restricted all the more. But she twisted her hand, slid her fingers around the lining of th
e pocket. Searching. But found nothing. “Is this the right pocket?”
“Yeah. Keep trying.” He angled his body closer to her, but it was no use. With her wrists bound, she couldn’t dig deep enough in his pocket to reach the bottom, where the keys rested.
“All right, never mind,” he said, his voice sounding husky. Thick.
A fresh jolt shot through her. Had her groping turned Dave on? The idea both shocked and mollified her. She felt a tad less guilty about her reaction, knowing that Dave, too, had noticed and responded to the intimate nature of the task. But as she scrunched away, she also frowned her displeasure that he hadn’t had the self-control, the common decency, to rein in his body’s reaction. Helen had only been gone for a few months. How could he—?
She expelled a harsh, shamed sigh. Black pot, meet black kettle.
“New plan,” he said, his voice stronger, steadier.
Lilly rolled to look at him. “I’m all ears.”
He hitched his head, indicating she should roll on her side again. “Hold your hands out. I’m going to see if I can bite through the tape, a little at a time.”
“Good idea.” She held his gaze—for a moment too long, she realized, when an uncomfortable look filled his face. His nostrils flared as he sucked in a slow breath and slammed his eyes shut. She drew her own shuddering breath and moved to her side, holding her arms out to him.
Dave’s unshaven chin scratched her hands, and his hair tickled her arms as he tried to find the right angle to begin his task.
“Where’s a gerbil when you need one, huh?” she quipped, trying to distract herself from the tug as he gnawed at the edge of the tape.
“A gerbil? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know, because they chew everything. Cardboard, wood, electric cords, your school assignment. You didn’t have a hamster or gerbil growing up?”
He nibbled a bit of tape and paused to spit it out. “Nothing that small. A dog. Horses.” He started chewing the tape again, then hesitated. “Which reminds me. I’m guessing that’s your cat under the bed? The fluffy black, brown and white one with big eyes.”
Rancher's Hostage Rescue Page 6
