Southern Storm

by Terri Blackstock

  “Yes, I do,” Hull said.

  “Then pull over immediately. Do you hear me, Hull? Pull your car off the road now.”

  “Can’t do that,” Hull radioed back. “I will not put this baby in harm’s way.”

  “Where are you taking it?”

  “To safety,” he said.

  Cade grabbed the mike again. “Hull, prove you’re innocent. If you want to bring the baby to safety, pull over now and turn him over.”

  The radio crackled again, and he heard another voice. “This is FBI Agent Tavist. It’s Hull you’re after. Do you read me? It’s Hull you want, not Cade!”

  Suddenly there was a burst of radio exchanges among other officers. Hull made a turn and flew to the Interstate.

  “Where is he going?” Joe asked. “He can’t possibly think there’s an escape.”

  “He realizes they’re not buying his story,” Cade said. “Maybe he’s headed to the airport.”

  But then Hull turned on to Chatham Parkway and headed toward the Savannah River.

  “He’s going to try to get away on the water,” Cade shouted.

  They followed, sirens blaring and lights flashing, as Hull led them to a dock where two dozen boats were parked on slips out on the water.

  He abandoned his car and got out, holding that car seat in one hand and waving his gun in the other. Rain pummeled down on them.

  All of the cars came to a halt in a semicircle around him.

  Cade got out. “Leave the baby, Hull! You can go, but leave the baby. Just set him down and run.”

  Panicked, Hull kept holding the screaming baby and, with his gun poised, backed his way down a pier.

  He looked from side to side, trying to find a boat he could step into. But none was close enough.

  Instead, he ducked into a shed at the end of the pier. Through the window, he began shooting, holding his colleagues at bay.

  CHAPTER 80

  Blair stood in the rain at the Clark house, trying to get a statement from one of the agents who had been searching Ann Clark’s house, when the call came over his radio that there was a standoff at the Riverside Pier on the Savannah River and that Detective Hull was holding a baby hostage.

  Her heart plunged, and she knew that Cade would be right in the thick of it.

  As the agent ran to confer with his colleagues, Blair jumped in her car. Sadie, who had fallen asleep in her seat, jumped awake at the slamming door.

  “What is it, Blair?”

  “There’s a standoff at the River. Hull has the baby.”

  Sadie straightened. “We’re going there?”

  “I am. But I’ll drop you off at the Wendy’s near the dock. I swore to Morgan I’d take care of you.”

  “Why are you going? You can’t help. You should stay away too, Blair.”

  “I think Cade’s there.” It was all the reason she needed.

  When they reached the Wendy’s, Sadie started to get out. “Go in there and pray while you’re waiting,” she said. “Don’t stop until I get back.”

  Sadie gave her a surprised look. “I sure will. Be careful, Blair.”

  Sadie got out of the car, and Blair sped away.

  At Hanover House, the agents manning the phones had flown into a flurry of activity, but they weren’t talking about what was going on. But when the local television station broke into programming to alert the public about the high speed chase that had taken place down the interstate, and the stand-off on the river that had something to do with one of the kidnapped babies, Karen sprang off the couch.

  “My baby!” she cried. “They found my baby!”

  Morgan stared down at the television. One of the agents stepped into the room, and Morgan looked up at him. “Is it true?”

  “Looks like it,” he said. “A black infant just a few days old.”

  “We’ve got to go there!” Karen shouted. She turned to the agent. “Please, will you take us? We’ll stay back until it’s safe, but I want to be there for my baby!”

  The agent went to confer with his colleague, then came back into the room. “Let’s go,” he said.

  CHAPTER 81

  Needles of rain slanted down, thunder cracking and lightning flashing, as if God had had enough.

  Hull was still in the building, firing at anything that came near.

  The FBI had arrived, and Tavist had taken over. But they were getting nowhere.

  Cade sat inside Joe’s car, struggling against the agony of his leg. But it was the pain of his own regret that almost did him in.

  He never should have gone to Hull’s house. If he’d waited for the FBI, they would have surrounded the place before Hull even knew they were there. They might have surprised him and subdued him before he could further endanger the child.

  He watched from his car as the agents tried negotiating with Hull through a bullhorn. But the only response from Hull was the occasional gunshot firing from the window.

  Someone had to risk going in there to talk to him. But with Hull firing out at anyone who tried, it had become impossible.

  Unless . . .

  As an idea dawned in Cade’s mind, he got his crutches and got out of the car. Making his way through the storm, he got to Agent Tavist’s car.

  The man was in a huddle with several other agents.

  “I want to go in.”

  Tavist turned around and looked at him. “That’s absurd. He’ll kill you before you get within thirty feet of him. Our sniper team is on its way. We’re going to try to take him through the window.”

  “I could distract him,” Cade said. “We could let him know I’m coming, injured and unarmed. I’m not a threat with these crutches.”

  Tavist stared at him for a moment. “You could be killed just like that, Cade. It’s not worth it.”

  Rain dripped into Cade’s eyes as he looked back at that shed. “It is to me.”

  Tavist turned back to his men, and Cade waited as they discussed the plan. He heard a van pull up and turned to see a dozen special agents filing out with their rifles.

  If they tried to take him out from this distance, they could miss and hit the baby. If he could get in there, maybe he could protect him.

  Finally, Agent Tavist turned back around. “Cade, are you sure you want to do this?”

  “I’m sure,” Cade said.

  “All right. We can try it. We’ll send you as our negotiator, but all we really want is for you to distract him while our agents move in. If you can, try to stand close to the baby. If we can see you, we won’t fire in that direction.”

  Cade was ready.

  Tavist brought the bullhorn to his mouth. Cade hoped Hull could hear him through the storm.

  “Detective Hull,” Tavist called to him. “We’d like to send someone in to talk to you. Chief Cade is not a threat. He’s unarmed. He just wants to hear your demands.”

  For a moment there was no answer, then finally, Hull yelled out. “Tell him to take off his shirt so I can see if he’s armed.”

  Cade didn’t waste a moment. He hobbled on his crutches out in front of the police cars and FBI agents. The rain had already drenched him, but it pounded so hard that he hoped Hull could see him clearly enough. He stood at the end of the pier and, balancing on his crutches, peeled his shirt off and dropped it.

  He hoped Hull could see that he had nothing on him, except a bandage over his ribs. His wet sweatpants were plastered to his skin. Anything hidden there would be obvious.

  “I’m coming, Hull,” Cade said. “We okay with that?”

  When there was no answer, he started to move. Slowly, he crutched his way down the pier, one step after another, waiting, almost expecting, for Hull to shoot him dead and finish the job he started in Ann Clark’s basement. But he kept going, one step at a time.

  Lord, help me do this.

  He reached the door of the building. “I’m coming in, Hull,” he said. “I just want to talk.”

  The door came slightly open, and Cade pushed through.

  Hu
ll grabbed him and patted him down, each touch of his bandage sending rivets of pain shooting through him.

  Satisfied, Hull pulled him in and slammed the door. The old shed smelled of dirt and dead fish, and there was no light except for what little came through the window.

  Hull stood in front of him, his gun pointing at him. “Give me your crutches,” he said.

  Cade balanced on his good leg and handed him the crutches.

  The baby seat sat on a shelf behind him. The baby had stopped crying and seemed to be sleeping.

  “Start talking,” Hull said.

  “I came to listen.” Cade checked Hull’s distance from the window. He wasn’t close enough. They would never be able to see him.

  “Tell us what you want,” Cade said. “The feds are in a negotiating mood.”

  Hull was sweating, and Cade recognized the terror on his face. He had to show him a way out of this.

  “So far, there are no murder charges. We figure Ann killed her husband. And if the babies are found unharmed, then it’ll even look better for you.”

  “The babies were never in danger,” Hull said. “Not until you came along, trying to be the hero. Every one of the babies has been adopted out, and this one would have gone to its home tomorrow if you hadn’t come along and destroyed everything.”

  Cade couldn’t help the bitter contempt twisting his face. So it was all about money. Kill a man, abduct a cop, rip newborns from their families. He wondered how much they made on each one.

  “We had a great setup,” Hull said. “Until William went off the deep end. Ann tried to kill him to keep him from talking. You finished the job.”

  “So,” Cade said, “you’re not responsible for anyone’s death. Get a good lawyer and you could beat this, Hull.”

  From the corner of his eye, he watched the window. Somehow, he had to get near the baby. “Let me see the baby,” he said. “I want to make sure he’s still alive.”

  Hull shook his head. “He’s finally sleeping. I can’t stand that screaming.”

  “I won’t wake him up,” he said. “I can move over there, if you’ll give me just one crutch. They want me to let them know if he’s okay.”

  Hull looked out the window, as if weighing Cade’s words. Cade saw the confusion on his face.

  “If I tell them he’s alive, they’ll relax a little,” Cade said. “Everybody’s on edge until they know that. They’re liable to do anything.”

  Hull stared at him for a moment. Finally, he picked the baby carrier up and gave Cade a look. “See? Alive, even though I’m sick to death of it.” He set the baby on the floor between them. “And frankly, Chief, I’m sick to death of you too. If I’m going to prison, I might as well make it worth it.”

  As he spoke, he raised his gun and aimed it between Cade’s eyes.

  CHAPTER 82

  Blair pulled into the outer parking lot of the dock where the standoff was taking place. Through her frantically sweeping windshield wipers, she could see the police cars lined up like vicious dogs waiting to attack. Armed officers used their vehicles as barricades as they kept their weapons trained on that building just off the pier, waiting to fire when told.

  At the back of the crowd, she saw Joe McCormick pacing back and forth, and she knew without a doubt that Cade was here too.

  She got out of her car, leaving her umbrella behind, and ran up to the barricade.

  “Ma’am, you can’t come any closer,” a cop told her.

  “I need to speak to Detective McCormick,” she said. “The bald guy over there.”

  The cop went to get him, and Joe hurried over. “Blair, what are you doing here?”

  She ignored the question. “Joe, where’s Cade?”

  Joe looked back toward the pier, though it wasn’t visible from where they stood. Finally, he ducked under the barricade and got closer to her. “He’s in that shed with Hull and the baby. They sent him in as a negotiator.”

  Thunder cracked like a gunshot, startling her. Had he said what she thought he said? That Cade was in danger again?

  She lunged at him, fists flying. “Why did you let him go? He can’t even walk! What’s the matter with you?”

  Joe caught her fists. “I couldn’t stop him, Blair.”

  “After everything that happened!” she railed. “Hull’s going to kill him anyway. Why didn’t you just shoot him yourself?”

  She collapsed with her hands over her face, wailing out her fear and rage. Finally, Joe reached out for her, straightened her up, and put his arm around her. “Come on, Blair. Let’s go back to your car, get you out of this rain.”

  She didn’t care about the rain or the thunder or the gunfire. But she didn’t have the strength to fight him.

  He walked her back, opened the door, and she got in.

  “Wait here,” he said. “I’ll let you know what’s happening.”

  He closed the door, and she buried her face in her arms on the steering wheel, groaning out her anguished hopelessness.

  And then she remembered God. She rose up, sobbing, and looked through that wet windshield to the angry sky above her. She believed that he was there, watching over Cade as he’d done when he was in that basement, fighting for his life. He was Cade’s refuge. And he was hers too.

  “Don’t let him die,” she whispered. “Please, God, protect him one more time.”

  Thunder rumbled, and she touched her windshield, as if reaching through to him. “Please, Jesus.” It was real, her belief in the one true God. The one to whom she could run when the Avenger hunted her down. When this was over, no matter how it ended, she would profess his name.

  She would make a lousy Christian, she thought. A blackeye to all of Christendom. A huge scar on the face of the church.

  But Christ had a thing for scars.

  Her crying settled, and her sense of helplessness faded. She was not helpless. She could pray.

  It was the most she could do for Cade.

  CHAPTER 83

  Nobody has to die.” Cade stared into the barrel of that pistol, aiming dead center. “Give me your demands.”

  “I demand to see you dead.”

  Cade swallowed. “If you pull that trigger, they’ll be on you so fast you won’t have time to squeeze it again.”

  “It’d be worth it,” Hull said, “just to see you lying in a bloody heap on this floor.”

  Cade’s eyes locked with his, and he knew in his heart that Hull meant it, that he could kill him in a second without a thought, then go to prison for the rest of his life and think every day of that time that it was worth it.

  Suddenly, he saw movement at the window behind Hull. Someone was there.

  Cade was close to Hull, and any bullet meant for him could take Cade’s head off too.

  Hull must have heard movement, and he turned to the window and fired out. The baby began to scream.

  Cade grabbed the baby carrier and hit the floor.

  Another gunshot . . .

  And Hull collapsed.

  A moment of stark silence followed, and Cade lay there, his body protecting the baby.

  The door flew open, and an agent burst in, still holding the gun that had killed the detective.

  Cade pulled himself up, biting back his pain. His hands trembled as he scooped the baby out of his seat and brought it to his shoulder. “Shhh,” he said. “You’re okay. It’s gonna be all right.”

  He grabbed one of the crutches that Hull had taken from him and put it under his right arm, and cradling the baby in his left, he started out of the building. Pain tortured him with each jolt, draining his strength. He stopped and leaned against the building. The baby was getting wet, so he dropped his crutch and bent over him, trying to shield the child from the rain.

  And then he heard a woman screaming . . .

  He searched the crowd through the rain and saw a black woman he’d never seen before, with Morgan behind her, running between the cars, forcing her way out into the parking lot toward him, making her way to the pier.


  No one stopped her as she came toward him, running, screaming, “My baby, my baby!”

  When she reached him, he handed her the baby. Dizziness swept over him, and he thought he might pass out. He wobbled and tried to steady himself.

  He closed his eyes, heard voices screaming, yelling, feet running toward him . . .

  “Cade, you stupid, reckless idiot! What were you thinking?”

  It was Blair’s voice, pulling him from his pain. He opened his eyes, and she ran into his arms.

  Police surrounded Karen and whisked her off, while others went to the building where Hull lay dead.

  Blair began to weep, her body racking with anguish that seemed greater than his. He reached down for her face, tipped her chin up, and pressed his forehead against hers.

  “Thank you, Jesus,” she whispered. “Oh, thank you, Lord.”

  It sounded like a prayer. Cade let her words register in his mind, and he pulled back for a moment and gazed down at her. She was more beautiful than he’d ever seen her, with the rain soaking her hair and tears reddening her eyes, and those scars flaming against her pale, smooth skin.

  With both hands, he framed her face—the side with the dried-out, crusted-over burn scars, and the soft, silky side—both of which he loved.

  Slowly, he lowered his lips to hers and kissed her in the way that he had wanted to for so many years. His heart burst with the joy of it, as she seemed to melt to his touch.

  All around them, chaos reigned. Radios crackled, thunder boomed, people yelled and ran past them. But Cade didn’t hear any of it. All he knew was the taste and feel of Blair Owens as she surrendered to that same joy.

  AFTERWORD

  There are times when I read a passage of Scripture, and it goes right over my head. Later, the Lord will direct me to the same passage again, and it’s as if one verse is framed in neon and takes on a whole new meaning that applies so perfectly to my life at that moment. I guess that’s why we’re told that “the word of God is living and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword . . .” (Hebrews 4:12).

  Recently, that happened to me as I was reading Psalm 84. In the NASB translation, Psalm 84:5 says, “How blessed is the man whose strength is in Thee; In whose heart are the highways to Zion!”