Putting as much force as she could muster into her tone, she commanded, “Wait!”
Dewey glanced to his left as he cleared the doorframe but Pippa had angled her body, prohibiting him from entering.
A snarl curled Dewey’s lip as he raised the lethal-looking gun and leveled it at her forehead. Oh, God! Please let her kids be out of the house. She ordered herself to not look toward the kitchen, and gulped hard as her gaze traveled toward the black hole at the end of the pistol. She forced the panic clawing its way up her chest firmly back down and gestured toward Sam with a calmness that stunned her. “Daniel’s here. It’s time to let my family go.”
“Bitch, you don’t tell me what to do. No fucking woman will ever tell me what to do.”
Pain exploded across her cheek as the back of Dewey’s hand connected with it. She hadn’t anticipated it. Didn’t see it coming. Never realized how loud the sound of bone connecting with bone could be. Like the sudden thunder of a kettle drum. Stars danced in front of her eyes and she staggered before righting herself. Denying Dewey full access to the room was vital, but she did need to maneuver him far enough into the room to allow Clay to sneak up behind him. She took a convincing step back, praying that she conveyed the kind of cowering woman that made Dewey feel powerful.
Sam growled menacingly behind her and she sensed him tensing on the couch five feet away. His only job was to sit on the couch and pretend to be Daniel. She hoped he remembered that and stayed put.
She put a trembling hand to her cheek, wincing at the sharp pain. “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to tell you what to do. I’m just asking you to live up to your promise.”
God, please let him think fear was making her voice quaver, not anger.
“But I got the gun, don’t I? I’m calling the shots. We’ll leave when I’m good and ready.”
Dewey smirked and let his leer roam over her torso, lingering on her breasts before moving to her hips. His fat tongue snuck out from between his disgusting, wormlike lips and licked suggestively.
Pippa gagged as vomit rose in her throat. She braced her feet wide. Clay called her spitfire for a reason. Dewey might think he could lay a hand on her, but she knew she was strong enough, and clever enough, to make sure that didn’t happen.
Time to give this asshole reason to think he needed to leave. “I ran into some trouble signing Daniel out of Woodward. The guard questioned why there wasn’t any paperwork for a day pass for him. When he went to call the resident psychiatrist about it, we just left.”
“See, I knew you could think fast,” Dewey replied.
“Yeah, but…” She trailed off, putting uncertainty into her voice and twisting her hands together nervously for good measure. Since her career in the music therapy field was over, maybe she could try her hand at acting. “Security is going to consider this an escape. They’ve probably already started looking for us. This will be the first place they check. In fact, I am a little surprised they weren’t here when we pulled up. It takes twenty minutes to drive here from the hospital. Plenty of time for them to arrive.”
“Ha! The cops will be too busy to respond to a report of an escaped juvenile. That was Liberty Battalion’s job. They’ve called bomb threats in to the church, the funeral home, the cemetery and three other places.” Dewey erupted in maniacal laughter, his rotund belly shaking like an obscene caricature of Santa. “Truth is, there’s only one bomb, and it’s at the po-po’s headquarters.”
“What? Why?” She had been stalling for time, hoping to distract him long enough that her children were clear of danger before Clay launched a counter-attack on Dewey. But this information was truly alarming.
He waved his gun in the air, throwing a glance toward Sam-masquerading-as-Daniel. He frowned a little as Sam tipped his head to the right, displaying a white ear bud but further obscuring the view of his face.
Dewey turned back to Pippa, smirking derisively. “That’s the beauty of the plan. See, the masterminds of the Battalion let it be known they were going to show in a big way at a military funeral. Eleni conveniently got himself killed, so his shindig was picked as the target. Extra Battalion personnel have been arriving for the past few days and laying low at the Slide Into Sleep fleabag motel on the edge of town. The idea is to generate a big show of strength. They’ve been using untraceable phones to alert the media about the bomb threats.”
“Roberto was my friend. He gave his life for his country. Is this is how you show respect for a fellow soldier?” she asked.
“I got no real beef with the Army. My involvement with the Battalion is just my cover.”
“So why is the only bomb at the police station?”
“The plan is to stretch the force thin, even the extra troops your asshole boyfriend called in. Oh, yeah,” he said when she couldn’t keep the surprise off her face. “We know about the undercover police and the Feds who have been arriving here.”
Over Dewey’s shoulder she saw Clay silently crouch next to the door, out of Dewey’s sight. She trained her eyes on Dewey to keep from arousing his suspicion, circling her hand in a go-on gesture, and breathed easier when Dewey continued.
“Once those idiots realize there aren’t any bombs, they’ll all go back to the station to regroup. As soon as enough of them are there…ka-fucking-boom! Lots of dead police, message delivered. I wish I could be around to see, but the kid and me will be long gone before that happens. But I do plan to add your boyfriend to the list of fatalities. Asshole has been a thorn in my side for long enough.”
The horror of the Battalion’s diabolical plan gripped her, speeding up her heart rate until it pounded discordantly in her ears, turning her blood to ice. So many lives would be lost. Men and women she’d known all her life—Clay’s friends with the government.
She braced her hand on the wall, fighting the wave of nausea cutting her stomach like shards of glass. The fact that he’d shared their plans meant Dewey didn’t plan to leave any witnesses in Granite Pointe to alert the police. He’d kill Clay and maybe her and the kids too.
Oh, please God. Let her children at least be spared.
“Daniel!” Dewey shouted at the back of Sam’s head, trying to step around Pippa. “What the hell is wrong with the boy?”
Dodging to the left to keep Dewey from entering, Pippa answered. “I didn’t tell him you’d be here. He really thinks we’re going to the funeral. Besides, with headphones in he can’t hear you. Kids these days play their music too loud.”
The sneer was back on Dewey’s face. “Well, that lack of respect is gonna stop. Boy! Get the hell up and greet your daddy proper.”
There was no way Sam could pretend to not hear Dewey now. His shout was so loud the neighbors probably heard it. Tension coiled through her like a venomous snake as Sam gathered himself and stood, head tipped down so the bill of his cap hid his so-not-Daniel’s face from sight. She had to hand it to Sam; he did a spot-on imitation of a sullen teenager.
While Dewey’s eyes were glued to the person he thought was his son, Pippa risked a glance into the hall. Clay had his fist wrapped around a heavy candlestick from the hall table and had rocked forward on the balls of his feet, waiting for his chance to strike. Seeing that he had her attention, Clay gestured for her to move away from the man with the gun. Sidestepping to her right, she made sure she’d be clear when Clay launched himself.
She froze mid-stride as the majestic tones of The Caisson Song, the Army anthem, rang out of her jacket pocket. Oh God, oh God. She’d forgotten she still had Clay’s phone. Disbelief and rage distorted Dewey’s normal scowl into a frightening mask. When he swung the gun up and in her direction, her head spun as all the oxygen was forced out of her lungs.
“I told you no goddamn cell phones, you fucking bitch!” He surged forward and seized her arm in a vise-like grip.
“Pippa, move!” Sam cried, coiling to spring over the back of the sofa.
“What the hell…” Dewey jerked in Sam’s direction suspiciously as her brother’s head rose
, revealing their ruse. The ringtone continued as Dewey reached for her.
Terror washed over her like rolling waves of thundering artillery when Dewey wrapped his arm around her throat and jammed the gun up underneath her jaw. Bringing her hands up to try to break free, she felt the muscles in his forearm shift powerfully, tightening his grip, choking her. When he pushed the gun deeper into her flesh, her tongue hit the roof of her mouth, blocking her airway. She stopped struggling and went stiff in his grasp. The phone stopped ringing, plunging the room into tense silence.
Relief was instant when the pressure from his weapon disappeared. But the chokehold on her neck continued, and the reprieve was short-lived. Dewey swung the gun wildly toward Sam, stopping him from leaping to her rescue.
What had she been thinking to put Sam into harm’s way? Her parents were never going to forgive her if he was injured, or worse, died in the course of helping her. Blinking back frustrated tears, she mentally chastised herself. Crying wasn’t going to help them. With Clay hiding in the hallway, they still had a chance.
“Fucking bitch! Who the hell is this? Where’s Daniel?”
She struggled not to gag as Dewey’s fetid breath invaded her senses. “I… He…oh, shit. He wouldn’t come.”
“Bullshit! You’re lying.”
“No, it’s the truth,” she choked out. Her throat worked hard to swallow as his arm tightened. “Even if he had wanted to come, I couldn’t get him out of Woodward. There wasn’t any way.”
She flinched as Dewey roared, the animal-like sound reverberating through the living room.
Sam picked that moment to lean forward to hurdle the sofa, but froze in place when the deadly sound of the gun cocking cracked through the room.
“Hold it right there, bucko. What do you think you can do? Who the fuck are you?”
“Sam Kerrigan,” he responded. “Pippa’s brother. Man, just let her go. This is over.”
“Nah—it ain’t over. I have the only gun in the room, and I really don’t care who I shoot first.”
With Dewey’s attention laser focused on her brother, and her head blocking most of his view to the right, Dewey couldn’t see her shoot a glance toward where Clay remained crouched in the hallway, his powerful body wound tighter than a spring, ready to catapult himself forward to save her.
Clay held her gaze and mouthed a single word at her. Cemetery. Confusion swirled like a whirlpool through her mind. She pulled her eyebrows together and shot him a look she hoped he’d interpret as a request for more information. Judging by Dewey’s last comment, they didn’t have much time before he lost it.
Sam continued to distract Dewey’s attention. “You can still get away. The cops will never have to know you’ve held Pippa and her family hostage. Or that you tried to break your son out of Woodward.”
Pippa threw a concerned look at Sam, then smiled grimly as her brother carefully avoided mentioning Clay while he pleaded for her safety. It wouldn’t do at all to remind Dewey that Clay was supposedly still taped to a kitchen chair. She returned her gaze to Clay and he mouthed more words at her. Remember the day we met, spitfire.
Understanding dawned like a bright beacon of hope when she recalled their first encounter at Mark’s grave. When Clay had challenged her ability to protect herself if necessary. The day she’d proven to him she was capable of seeing to her own safety
The moment she’d begun to fall in love with him.
A smile played at the edge of her lips and she dipped her head to let Clay know she understood. While he silently adjusted his posture to spring into action, Pippa glanced at her brother and willed him understand, and be ready. Dewey’s right arm was raised between her and Clay, the gun cocked and trained on her brother. Everything about this plan could go horribly wrong.
Or beautifully right.
Sam blinked in rapid succession, the way he had when they were young and being disciplined for some childish squabble. Their mother would make them face each other on the couch and not speak for ten minutes. Those minutes seemed like hours, until Sam learned Morse Code and taught her as a way to thwart their punishment. He’d told her that prisoners of war in Vietnam had blinked the word torture during a television program aimed at showing how well the POWs were treated during confinement. They’d both found it hilarious that they could fool their parents, and the subject of their fight had been completely forgotten by the challenge to communicate.
The message he sent her now, while he continued to distract Dewey, he understood, loud and clear. He’d be ready.
Sending up a prayer for success, Pippa replayed the memory of Clay’s arms tight around her on that rainy autumn day. Of how she’d turned the tables on him and freed herself. Of the emptiness left over when the heat of his large body was removed.
Drawing a prayer of a breath, she softened her knees and let her body collapse toward the floor.
As anticipated, Dewey’s grasp shifted as she fell, trying to compensate for her sudden weight. She seized the opportunity to shove upward against his right arm, pushing the barrel of the gun toward the ceiling, and away from its deadly aim on Sam.
Her knees connected painfully with the hardwood floor and she ducked her head out of the way. Dewey’s weight lifted when Clay tackled him. The gun discharged as the attack forced the heavier man to the floor where Clay ended up on top of him. They wrestled for control of the gun as Sam leaped over the sofa and pulled her away from the fray, forcing her into the hallway.
Frozen by the tableau presented by their wrestling, Pippa could do no more than watch as Clay grasped Dewey’s wrist and slammed it to the hard surface. Once. Twice. The third time the gun flew from Dewey’s hand and skittered to a stop at Sam’s feet.
Clay’s knees were on top of Dewey’s upper arms, leaving the man waving his lower arms ineffectively, like a Tyrannosaurus Rex. With his elbow thrust hard against Dewey’s Adam’s apple, Clay blocked the other man’s airway until his lips turned blue. Bending to retrieve the weapon, Sam surged forward and skidded on his knees next to where Clay struggled to pin the heavier man to the floor.
Sam forced the barrel of the gun into Dewey’s ear and growled harshly, “Give it up, asshole.”
Without moving his knees from Dewey’s arms, Clay leaned on his heels, reared his fist back and plowed it forcefully into Dewey’s nose. The resulting scream of pain gurgled to a stop when Dewey’s eyes rolled back and he lost consciousness.
“Sit on him, and don’t let him move,” Clay ordered Sam and leaped to his feet.
He crossed the room before Pippa could blink and wrapped her in a powerful, comforting embrace. Twining her arms tightly around his waist, she didn’t try to hold back the tears. Tucking her face into his neck, she inhaled, letting his familiar piney sage scent lift the dark cloud from her soul, leaving space for the sunshine.
“Oh my God, Clay. Are Mason and Mia okay? Please tell me Jack got them out.”
“He did. They’re safe.”
Shifting his arms, he pulled back and brushed at the tears on her cheeks.
She winced when his thumb swept over the bruise Dewey had left with his angry slap.
Grimness filled his eyes. “I nearly lost it when that rat bastard hit you. I could kill him.”
She grabbed his face between her hands and pressed a kiss to his lips, holding him in place when he would have left her to go pound the living daylights out of Dewey.
“I’m okay. It’s just a bruise. It will fade. God knows it could be worse. Bullet wounds are much more difficult to recover from, wouldn’t you agree?” She pointed to the hole in the wall where the single shot Dewey had gotten off had hit. “My wall might never be the same. Do you want to help me paint the room a nice pine tree green? Dark colors hide lots of imperfections.”
His laughter crackled like electricity. “Oh, God, I love you so much, Pippa. I don’t know what I’d have done if anything had happened to you. Life in Granite Pointe wouldn’t be nearly as entertaining without you here.”
Her breath shortened and she searched his face. She opened her mouth, then snapped it shut again. This man she’d fallen in love with, but expected to leave when Seeley recovered sufficiently to be able to live on her own, had told her his plans had changed.
“You’re staying?” she whispered through trembling lips.
“I think my wife would want me to live in the same town with her and the kids. Don’t you?”
Pippa’s heart jumped the octave from her ribcage to her throat, soaring on wings of love and joy.
The front door flew open, slamming against the wall behind it. Jack careened through the door, barely missing them as he slid to a stop, his teeth bared in an angry snarl, and clenching a large ugly pistol in his fist. His mouth warped into a relieved smile at the sight of Sam, sitting on Dewey, and Clay holding her in a tight embrace.
“I heard the gunshot. Is everyone okay? Aw shit! Looks like I missed all the excitement.”
“Jack—”
He held up a hand, forestalling her question. “They’re fine, Pipsqueak. They’re safe. Stuart’s mom herded them into the bomb shelter in their basement, gave me one of their guns and shoved me back out with orders to rescue you. She engaged all six locks before I ran back over. No one is getting into that shelter.” Jack smiled at her reassuringly.
“Jack, can you grab the duct tape on the kitchen counter so we can restrain Dewey?” Clay smiled coldly, a muscle in his jaw twitching.
He held a hand out to Pippa. “Stealing my phone was a brilliant idea, spitfire, but could I have it back? I need to call the FBI and make sure they know where to look for the bomb.”
“Oh.” She pulled the phone from her pocket and dropped it into his palm.
“Yeah, time to save some lives.” Clay quickly dialed a number and hugged her close as he waited for his connection. “I meant what I said earlier, Pippa. I love you and will until the day I die. You, me and the twins are going to be a family.”
Hearts in Harmony Page 24