When she ended the kiss, she pulled back and stared into the face of her future. “Don’t let this sick son of a bitch hurt my kids.”
Clay’s soft chuckle wove through her head and settled on her heart. “God, Pippa. I love you. You swore,” he whispered with a smile. “If you can do that, you can make this work.”
She nodded, warmed by his words. She had to find a way to get Daniel out of Woodward and back here to keep her children safe…to give her a chance at a future with Clay.
With so much at stake, she couldn’t afford to fail.
25
The quiet, sniffling sound from the twins broke his heart. They were scared, and rightfully so. Shit, Clay was petrified himself. His mind raced as he considered their options for escape, and discarded each scenario as unworkable, or too dangerous. He’d sworn to Pippa that he wouldn’t allow her children to be harmed and he’d do his damnedest keep that promise, or die trying.
Testing the tape that bound his wrists behind his back, he felt hope stir. Pippa had left just enough slack in the binding that he might be able to wriggle free. He stopped working against the tape when Dewey sauntered back to the kitchen after watching Pip drive away. Clay prayed Dewey wouldn’t decide to check Pippa’s workmanship on tying him up.
“Alone, at last,” Dewey cackled as he collapsed into the chair across from Clay. His gun clunked obscenely as he dropped it on the wooden tabletop. “You know how long I’ve dreamed of this moment? When I’d have my arch-enemy helpless in front of me?”
Opting for a keep-him-guessing strategy, Clay went on the offensive. “Are you in the fu—freaking second grade, Dewey? Arch-enemy? Still living in that comic book world where you’re the super-hero?”
Dewey’s posture stiffened and he leaned forward to lazily run his finger across the deadly hunk of metal in front of him. He tapped the gun safety with a blunt fingertip, his eyes never leaving Clay’s face. “You ain’t in a position to talk to me like that. I’m the man with all the cards here. This time, you’re gonna be holding the bag in the end. You better be careful or it might be a body bag. The world ain’t going to shit on good ol’ Dewey or his boy ever again. We’re going to be winning, and you’ll be dealing with the fallout.”
Clay let a sneer play across his face and leaned forward aggressively. “Christ, Dewey. Does your ass ever get jealous of the shit that comes out of your mouth?”
He forced himself not to glance toward the kids to apologize for his language. Their whimpering had stopped when Dewey sat down. Good. They understood the importance of not drawing Dewey’s attention in their direction.
“Shut the fuck up!”
“It’s not too late, you know. You could just walk out that door. End this, before it’s gone too far,” Clay reasoned.
“And leave my kid to rot in jail? Oh, hell no! He doesn’t belong in there. He’s just there because his bitch momma didn’t do her job like I told her. That she-devil you accused me of ass-aulting ended up pregnant with my kid. She tried to resist me, but gave in and let me be part of her life. For the good of the baby, she said.” Dewey snorted, as though disgusted by the whole affair. “A fat lot of good she ended up doing the baby. She coddled the boy instead of punishing him. When she should’ve taken a belt to him, she gave him time-out. What the hell kind of punishment is that?”
“It’s the legal kind, Dewey. You can’t beat your kids into obedience anymore. It isn’t acceptable.”
“Bullshit! The government has no right to tell me how to raise or discipline my child. You’d think they were too busy fighting illegal wars to tell a man how to rear his offspring.” Dewey shook his clenched fist in the air, emphasizing his point. “My pop beat me all the damn time. Beat my ma too. Kept us both in line the old fashioned way. It was good enough for me, it’s damn well good enough for my kid and his momma.”
Clay expelled a disgusted breath and flexed his forearms, quietly working against the tape binding his wrists. “Dewey, I could eat alphabet soup and shit a better argument than that.”
“It’s her fault.” Dewey gestured randomly toward the kids. Mason flinched and turned a protective shoulder toward Mia. “That damn bitch ruined everything.”
What? “How is this Pippa’s fault?”
Sharp laughter cracked the air. “Not every damn thing in the world is about little Miss Sunshine. The bitch I’m talking about is Danny-boy’s ma.”
Blinking hard to keep up, relief swept through Clay like a cool, welcome breeze. “Alright then, we’re back to that. You’ve screwed up your entire life when you had a chance to make something good out of it. You had a good thing going with the military and with Daniel’s mother until you raped her.”
The legs of Dewey’s chair screeched as he surged out of it, slapping his hand hard against the table. Mia screamed at his sudden move, and Dewey’s head swiveled her direction, a baleful scowl drawing his bushy brows together until they met in the middle of his face. “Shut up, little girl. I ain’t gonna hurt you.” He swung his bulky body toward Clay. “Just like I didn’t hurt that bitch. She asked for it rough. Claimed she liked it that way. Lying slut. When I satisfied her, she decided it wasn’t her cup of tea and cried rape. Don’t know why I expected different. That bitch is so cold she farts hail. I bet your little piece of ass likes it rough too. Does she? Does she like to lick the lollipop?”
Clay bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to hold back words that would only inflame the situation. “Jesus, Dewey. Her kids are right there.”
He risked a glance at the kids, hoping to calm their fears. Mia had buried her face against Mason’s thin chest. The boy’s wide, angry eyes were trained on Dewey, his hands fisted in his lap. The corner of Clay’s lips lifted a bit when Mason shifted his right hand and sent him a thumb’s up gesture. Talk about grace under pressure. He couldn’t be prouder of the six-year-old than if the boy were his son. He had his mother’s curly dark hair, sweet dimples and her brave spitfire attitude.
Dewey chortled, drawing Clay’s attention back. “It’s going to be a thing of beauty today. I’m sorry I’m not going to see it.”
Confused by the sudden shift, Clay frowned. “What the hell are you talking about now?”
“What Liberty Battalion has planned. When all the mourners are gathered at the funeral home, they’ll be parking a big-ass van, loaded with explosives, in front of the police station.” Dewey giggled like a schoolgirl, a profane and disgusting sound. “The dumbasses won’t know what hit them.”
Clay suppressed a shudder. He’d seen the damage a bomb like that could do to soft human flesh. “A lot of innocent people are going to get hurt, or worse. How’d you get involved with these idiots, Dewey? They’re nothing but hate-mongers, using a thin excuse to spread their message.”
“Their cause is just,” Dewey responded, anger making his harsh voice discordant.
“Their cause is self-serving and you know it. You have to know the government won’t let anything happen today. You think you’re going to use a protest at Roberto Eleni’s funeral as a screen for springing your kid. But the distraction isn’t going to happen.” Clay knew he was taking a chance by telling him this, but he wanted Dewey to understand how prepared the government was when dealing with lowlife scum like the Battalion. “Granite Pointe is swarming with NSA and Feds. Military Police from Fort Devens have been arriving quietly over the last three days. The Battalion doesn’t stand a chance.”
“Don’t count out the leadership of this group. They have a trick or two up their sleeves. They’re taking this battle to two fronts. They’ll divide and conquer before the Man can find his ass. But none of it will happen until later, after I’m long gone.”
Clay ducked his head to hide a smug smile. His contacts were already well aware of the Battalion’s plan and had prepared a counter-offensive of their own. The threat would be neutralized before it was time to head to the cemetery. Clay had been part of the planning team, helping put capable men and women into place to stop the group’s p
lan before they could so much as blink.
“I gotta take a dump. Don’t go anywhere.” Dewey snorted at his joke, picked up his gun and clumped heavily down the hall toward the small half-bath.
“You guys okay?” Clay whispered when the sounds of urine hitting water echoed loudly through the doorway.
Mia’s nod was belayed by the fright on her tiny face.
Think, Clay, Think. There has to be a way to get out of this without injuring the kids.
He cast a glance around the kitchen, seeking something he could use against Dewey. He’d have to get his hands and feet free first. Obstacle number one.
“Mr. Clay?” Mason’s soft voice drew Clay’s attention. The boy lifted his hands toward his mouth, as if he intended to chew through the gray band holding his wrists together. Intense concentration etched the boy’s face as he bared his teeth and thrust his tongue toward the folds of the cloth.
Clay shook his head, but stopped. The edge of a hard blue plastic handle appeared when Mason drew his tongue back. Son of a bitch! There was a way. A grin teased the corner of his lips. “Where’d you get that, Mason?” Clay whispered.
“Mommy put it in there. I don’t think the bad man saw it.”
“Bring it here, buddy.” Clay cast a cautious glance toward the bathroom. Judging by the noise, Dewey would be busy in there for a bit longer. He smiled encouragingly as the boy tiptoed over. “Can you get it in your hands and put it up my coat sleeve? Make sure the blade is pointing up. Hurry, buddy.”
Mason squatted behind Clay and inserted the knife next to Clay’s forearm, hiding it from sight.
Down the hall, Dewey flushed the toilet. “Back in your chair, quick.”
Panic raced across the child’s features as he scurried toward the chair next to his sister’s.
“Good job, Mason.”
The boy’s lips quirked into a smile, but he ducked his head as Dewey walked back into the kitchen zipping his fly.
Ideas on how to use the advantage he’d just gained flew through Clay’s head like bees buzzing around sweet apples. In true spitfire fashion, Pippa had armed her child, and trusted him to use good judgment about how and when to use it. The clever boy had waited until Dewey left the room to reveal he had the means to their freedom. Knowing that provided Clay with insight into Pippa’s thoughts. Best guess was that she’d find a way to get Dewey out of the room, giving him and the kids enough time to cut their bindings and for Clay to send her children out the door toward the neighbor’s house and safety.
Then, Clay would end this with Dewey, once and for all.
26
The unseasonable warmth of the late October day was completely at odds with the frosty fear searing her soul when she parked in front of Woodward. It had taken her less than the usual twenty minutes to get here, and her brain had raced for the duration of the trip, trying to come up with a reasonable-sounding excuse to check Daniel Robards out the hospital for day.
After weighing and discarding different scenarios, she realized Dewey had offered the most plausible reason—Daniel was needed to perform at Roberto Eleni’s funeral. She practiced the excuse in her head as she clipped her staff identification badge to the waistband of her skirt and jogged up the sidewalk to the front entrance to sign in.
She scrawled her name on the staff log, tossed the pen to the side and her keys into a waiting tray, and stepped through the metal detector. Alarm buzzers startled her. Oh damn. A weekend security officer she didn’t know very well walked over, his features drawn together like a question mark. She patted her empty pockets, trying to determine what might have triggered the warning.
“I don’t have anything on me, I don’t know why it’s buzzing,” she said, smiling weakly over rising panic. Oh damn, oh damn, oh damn!
The guard fiddled with a knob on the side of the machine. “It’s been sensitive lately. The least little thing has been triggering it. Why don’t you back up and try again.”
She complied and the alarms squealed the second time around. Grabbing the hand scanner from a nearby shelf, the man motioned her forward to stand on the feet stickers plastered on the cracked linoleum floor. The wand emitted a loud screech as he waved it over her chest, across the phone hidden in her bra.
“Oh, shit,” she said, no longer caring about her personal ban on swearing. Pulling the phone out of its hiding place, she leaned forward to deposit it in the tray with her keys, forcing a calm she was light-years away from feeling into her voice. “I forgot I’d put my phone there. I meant to leave it in my car with my purse. I’m running late. I was supposed to be here thirty minutes ago to pick up Daniel Robards. He’s playing guitar at a funeral service today.”
The guard held up one hand and reached for a black binder behind him. Pippa resisted the urge to check her watch while he perused the log sheets. “I don’t see anything here about the Robards kid getting a pass today.”
“Really? Huh. That’s strange. Dr. Scrivner told me yesterday it was all set. She must not have sent the paperwork through.” She took an anxious step toward the interior of the building. “I’m just going to run down to Daniel’s room and grab him. Be right back.”
“Hey! This is highly irregular. I’m going to have to contact my supervisor,” the guard hollered, reaching for the phone.
“You don’t need to do that. I’m sure it will be fine,” she called over her shoulder, as she vaulted up the stairs to the second floor residence hall. So far, her plan wasn’t going smoothly.
The click of her heels echoed loudly against the hard floor as she raced toward the room she knew belonged to Daniel. She paused long enough to rap on the wooden barrier before shoving the door open to reveal the teen sitting stiffly on his bed, like he was waiting for her. She’d been expecting him to look triumphant and, maybe…happy.
Dread settled like a stone in her chest when she caught sight of his frightened expression.
Disregarding clearly stated orders about not being alone with residents in their dorm rooms, she eased the door closed. This little rule violation couldn’t possibly matter. She was about to end her career by committing a much more serious offense.
“You know what’s going on?” she asked without preamble.
“He called last week and told me that his shithead comrades in arms were going to be protesting at some soldier’s funeral. The time was right and a there was going to be so much mayhem that breaking me out would be a piece of cake. Said I should be alert and watch for his signal.”
“I guess this is it. He’s holding my kids hostage.”
Daniel held her eye for a moment, before solemnly nodding and glancing away. “I don’t want to do this,” he mumbled.
“What?”
“I don’t want to leave. I can’t go with him,” he stated firmly. “It wasn’t enough to ruin my mom’s life, now he’s going to try to ruin mine. He’s going to try to turn me into his own little mini-me. But I don’t want to be like him.”
“He has my kids. He made me tie my children up and says he’ll kill them if I don’t bring you back.”
The youth shot off the bed, his lean physique, so reminiscent of her brother Sam’s, unfolding gracefully in spite of the force of the sudden move. “He’ll kill me if I go with you. He’s a crazy bastard.”
“Oh, God—” She bit off the plea before she could voice it.
This is what he’d asked about the other day, in their session. His question about whether he should do something not quite legal. And she’d counseled him that it was never right to break the law. And now she had been appointed the position of helping him do just that.
She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t ask this boy to make this sacrifice for her children. It wouldn’t be fair to him. He’d turned a corner recently and had a decent shot at proving he’d been reformed. He could lead a normal, productive life, the one he was meant to lead. In exchange for her children’s lives.
Staring at her feet, she let her brain race for an answer, stumbling over thoughts of wh
at was happening with the twins and the man she loved. Images of their precious faces with bullet holes marring their foreheads tightened fear like a noose around her throat, constricting breathing. Shudders coursed through her like a slithering snake. Dizzy and lightheaded, she slid down against the door, pressing her hands to her face, trying to rub away the pictures playing in fast motion on her closed eyelids. She gulped in deep, convulsive breaths, forcing her panic into a small box, trying to decide what to do.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Sanders. I just can’t help you. I won’t.” Daniel insisted, regret mixed with the defiance of his words.
The hopelessness of the situation besieged her. Dewey had told her not to call the police. Her children’s lives would be forfeited if she chose that course. If she returned without his son, he’d kill them all. She might have called Clay for help, except that she’d tied him up next to her children.
Tears of fright and frustration slipped between her fingers. At the very least, if she walked back into her home empty-handed, she could hope that Dewey would end it quickly for them, that none of them would suffer.
They’d be dead, so it wouldn’t matter to them. But what about her family, and Seeley? The horror they’d live through surpassed even her imagination. She’d been on that side of grief when Mark had died. But she’d had family to lean on, and the prospect of having Mark’s babies. That pulled her back from the precipice of sorrow that had claimed her when Reverend Crane knocked on her door. Jack had Jem, and her parents had each other. But Sam and Seeley didn’t have someone they loved to share the burden of grief.
Pippa dropped her hands to her sides and pushed her body straighter against the door as hurried footsteps sounded in the hall. The guard must have reached his supervisor, or Allyson Scrivner. Her story was blown. Even if Daniel wanted to break out of here, she’d never accomplish her task now.
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