Arnold looked toward the orphan and gave a snort, sending the piglet scrambling back for the corner.
Darby frowned and glanced at her watch. She’d come out in a little while to check in on things. If Curly still hadn’t approached Arnold, and Arnold hadn’t welcomed her, then she’d be forced to bottle-feed the munchkin again.
Darby brushed her hands on her jean-clad thighs, shoved her hair back and headed out of the barn, closing the door after herself.
“Don’t move.”
Darby wasn’t sure if it was the words themselves or the menacing way they were said, but she did exactly as she was told, freezing in her tracks. She felt fingers snake around the back of her neck, and a lump of fear so thick she could barely swallow filled her throat. Things like this didn’t happen in Old Orchard. They only happened on television and in the movies, and even then in big cities. The lack of crime was what made smaller towns so appealing.
Oh, my God, the girls!
Darby glanced anxiously around. All she saw were two men in orange jumpsuits with O.O. Sheriff’s Office stenciled over the one breast pocket. The girls were nowhere in sight.
She briefly closed her eyes, knowing that these two men were who John had been searching for the past three days. It struck her as ironic that they should show up at the very house John was staying in. Or was it by design? She wasn’t sure which prospect scared her more.
“What do you want?” she asked, taking some comfort in knowing that they didn’t have the girls. For once, she was grateful that the twins hadn’t listened to her and had gone somewhere out of sight. She only hoped they didn’t come barreling around the corner and straight into the situation.
The man holding her neck looked her up and down. “Hmm, I don’t know. We were going to go into the barn when you happened to come out. Now all sorts of possibilities are presenting themselves.”
“Are you alone?” the other man asked gruffly.
She swallowed. “My husband is out in the field.”
A lie to be sure, but she also would have been lying had she said she was alone and they found the girls.
“You’re not wearing a ring.”
“I never wear a ring when I clean out the animal stalls. I touch all sorts of nasty things and I don’t want to get it dirty.”
The fingers on her neck increased their pressure. “You just violated the first rule in the con man’s handbook. Never explain more than you have to. The longer the answer, the greater the chances it’s a lie.”
Darby shuddered, not liking his hand on her.
She licked her dry lips, knowing that with each second that passed, the greater the chance the girls would show up. And she wanted, no, needed to prevent that from happening. “Are you hungry? There’s plenty of food in the house. I could, um, make you something to eat.”
The other man leaned toward the one holding her. “The sheriff won’t be out for long. He’s sure to check here when he comes to.”
His words made her tremor. John was injured? She raised a hand as if to keep her heart from beating through her chest.
“We have a little time,” the man holding her said. “Let’s see what Mrs….”
“Conrad,” she supplied, her stomach tightening.
He leaned in closer to her and took a deep breath. “Let’s see what Mrs. Conrad has in mind for us inside.”
Inside. Inside there were all sorts of things she could do. All sorts of things she could use as a weapon.
But against two men?
He roughly turned her around and pushed her toward the house. “Lead the way.”
Darby’s gaze darted around the rest of the farm, searching for signs of the girls. There was none. She only hoped it would stay that way.
And she prayed John would make it there before the two men did even one of the things they might have in mind….
Chapter Fourteen
Keep them out in the open, Darby, John silently pleaded. Whatever you do, don’t take them into the house.
They were heading toward the house.
John cursed and got out of his Jeep. He’d parked it on the other side of the barn, out of sight of the two fugitives. His having a vehicle while they were on foot was the only thing he’d had going for him. But he was too late. They’d beaten him to Darby’s farm.
He stumbled and grabbed the side of the Jeep. His head hurt like hell and he had yet to fully regain his equilibrium. He fisted his hands, willing himself to full capacity. He needed to have his wits about him if he had any hope of saving Darby.
Then there were the girls.
Were they in the house? What would Lyle and Ted Smythe do when they stumbled across them? He hadn’t read anything on either of their rap sheets to indicate they were sexual predators or had a history of sexual assaults. But should they learn of Darby’s connection to him, there was no telling what they might do.
On the wild drive over, he’d made a call to Ed and told him to send every available man out. Now he called to tell him that the fugitives were, in fact, there and that his backup should proceed with caution and meet him behind the barn.
That still left John with untold minutes until anyone else arrived. And, damn it, he couldn’t just stand around and do nothing while those two scumbags were heading to the house with Darby.
John considered his options, finding them horribly lacking. He could confront the convicts now, without help, and risk them hurting Darby. Though he didn’t see either of them holding a gun, he knew they had Ed’s somewhere. So that meant that he didn’t have the advantage of firepower. Unless in their rushed departure from the Jenkins place they’d left the gun behind. Even if they had, how much did that mean when one of them had his filthy paw around Darby’s neck?
Okay, John thought. He could try a diversionary tactic and hope it stopped them from going inside.
He glanced around, his gaze settling on the chicken coop.
The chickens made such a ruckus that Darby gasped.
The girls, she immediately thought.
The man holding her by the neck whipped around to face the barn. She’d had her hand on the door handle, and the movement nearly tore her arm from the socket. She gave a soft yelp.
“What’s that?” he demanded.
“It’s, um, the chickens,” she said quietly. “I have a coop on the other side of the barn.”
They all stood for long minutes staring in the direction of the barn. Then the one holding her nudged his cohort with his elbow. “Go check it out, Ted.”
“I’m sure everything’s fine,” Darby said quickly, afraid that the twins had riled the chickens. “They do that…all the time.”
Both men stared at her.
“I’m not lying to you. Do you know much about farms?” She prayed they didn’t. “If you do, then you know that chickens are high-maintenance creatures. Any little thing sets them off. The wind blows the wrong way and they kick up a fuss. Irritating as hell.”
The one holding her grinned. “Check it out, Ted.” He pulled Darby closer. “You couldn’t lie to save your life, could you, Mrs. Conrad?”
Darby’s blood ran cold. Was that what was at stake? Her life? What about the twins’ lives if she allowed the other man to reach the barn?
“Come on,” the man holding her said, turning her back toward the door. “Ted can take care of himself. I, on the other hand, am hungry as a horse. You’d better be a good cook. And having a little cash around wouldn’t hurt, either. We didn’t find a stinking penny at that damn house.”
Darby’s hand shook as she opened the door and stepped inside.
She realized her mistake the instant they both stood in the kitchen. Outside, where there was so much space, escape seemed possible. But inside she felt trapped, closed in.
What had she been thinking when she’d initially come up with the idea to entice the men inside?
The man finally released his grip on her neck, and she stumbled toward the counter, grasping the edge to reorient herself. Now that she was there, her mind
went blank. The silverware drawer might be mere inches from her fingers, but did she dare pull a knife? Her right hand automatically sought her belly and the innocent life growing within.
The fugitive dropped into one of the kitchen chairs. Darby found it ironic that he chose the one in which John always sat.
John.
It hurt to think about him lying unconscious out there somewhere, injured by these two creeps. Would he be all right? Would he come to? Did someone, besides the two cons, know where he was?
“Get moving,” the man behind her ordered, making her jump. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a good home-cooked meal. The stuff they served at that jail wasn’t fit for a dog.” The chair legs screeched against the tile as he made himself more comfortable. “And don’t get any bright ideas. You try to run, I’ll only make things harder for you, if you get my meaning.”
Darby forced herself to take the skillet out of the oven and place it on a burner. She eyed the heavy cast iron, wondering if she could knock him out with it. Fear gripped her. The pan was so heavy, she was afraid she wouldn’t get halfway to the table before he’d see the attack coming.
Instead, she took a carton of fresh eggs out of the refrigerator. What to do…what to do…
“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” the man said, nodding in approval. “Sunny-side up. Do you know how to make hash browns? Been a while since I’ve had any of those.”
Darby swallowed when she saw him spot one of the girl’s dolls on the table. His expression hardened further as he picked the toy up by its hair, staring at it as if it were alive. “What’s this?”
Darby’s knees nearly gave out from under her. “My niece was over for a visit yesterday. She must have left it here.”
Too long of an explanation? Would he recognize the lie for what it was? She began peeling potatoes like a fiend, watching as the skins dotted the stainless-steel sink. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him toss the doll back across the table and settle in to watch her.
She was so relieved a sob nearly ripped from her throat.
Please, please, don’t let his partner find the girls.
Her gaze skittered to the door. Where was the guy? If she could disable this one, could she do the same with the other?
The fugitive went down like a ton of bricks.
John leaned back against the Jeep and stared at one very unconscious Ted Smythe sprawled across the dusty earth. He tossed the nightstick he’d used to the hood, then extracted his cuffs from the back of his belt. Within seconds he had the guy bound to one of the metal poles supporting the chicken wire, ignoring the sound of the agitated chickens inside.
His gaze flicked to the front of the house some hundred yards away. One down, one to go.
He glanced at his watch, wondering how long it would take Cole and the others to get here. The problem was, he needed them out here now, while he still had the jump on the one inside the house with Darby. He had a unique edge what with one of the twosome out of commission. But he wouldn’t have that edge for long. Lyle would figure out something was going on if his brother didn’t return right away. And the element of surprise would be lost to him. And put Darby at even greater risk.
Stepping to the Jeep, he fished a roll of duct tape from his toolbox in the back, then taped the unconscious man’s mouth shut. No sense taking a chance that he’d come to and try to warn his brother.
That done, John unsheathed his revolver and inched his way around the barn until he stood at the end of it. For the next stretch he’d be in the open where anyone looking out the window would be able to see him. Was Lyle at the kitchen door awaiting his brother’s return? Chances were he was. But John didn’t see any alternative.
He dragged the back of his left hand across his forehead, finding it drenched in sweat. His ears were still ringing from the blow to his head, and it was a battle to keep himself upright. The pain was intense. He didn’t know what they had hit him with, but whatever it was had done more damage than he had the time to explore. But his concern about that was nothing compared to the frightening realization that Darby and the twins were in danger.
Keep it together, man. Keep it together.
He squinted against the late-afternoon sunlight, then made a visual inventory of the area to his right. The outside pen was about ten feet wide and twenty feet long, and contained the myriad animals Darby was renowned for having taken in. John blinked, finding Billy the Goat standing closest to him, chewing on Lord knows what and probably salivating over the chance to get his teeth on his hair again.
Glancing toward the house, John crouched as far down as he could, then followed the wooden railing to the gate. He released the latch and ducked inside, leaving the gate open. To his chagrin, the animals seemed more interested in him than in getting outside.
“Go on! Shoo!” he said as loudly as he dared, swatting the llama on her hindquarters, then chasing the goat.
Finally the animals made for the gate. Using the diversion, John scrambled first next to the goat, then the llama, until he was very near the back door of the house, his heart beating erratically in his chest. He gripped his revolver tightly in both hands and pulled in several deep breaths. If he’d been spotted, there was no telling what Lyle would do.
He stood very still for long moments, waiting for any sign that he’d been seen. Nothing. He felt a rush of relief, but quickly pushed it aside.
Okay, now what?
Since the guy he’d cracked on the head on the other side of the barn didn’t have Ed’s revolver, it stood to reason that Lyle did. Which meant that bursting through the door and ordering him to freeze wouldn’t be the brightest of ideas.
Instead, he sidled up to the window over the kitchen sink and crouched just beneath it, wishing like hell his backup would hurry up and get there.
Darby shoved the potato peels down the drain, then flicked the wall switch to start the disposal. She was staring out the window, surreptitiously looking for the twins, when she spotted a fraction of a male head just below the window. She started, her heart nearly beating straight out of her chest.
John.
She couldn’t imagine how he’d known to come here, but she was so relieved that he was she nearly fell over backward.
The other guy’s outside, she tried to mentally convey to him. And the twins are somewhere out there with him.
“Hey. What’s going on?”
The fugitive had gotten up from the table and stood right behind her. John’s head disappeared.
“I almost dropped the knife into the disposal,” she said, her voice shaking.
He squinted at her, then leaned across the sink to look out the window. Darby held her breath, hoping against hope that John had caught on to what was happening and had moved from his spot.
The convict looked at her again, then moved to the side door, staring in the direction of the barn.
“What’s taking Ted so goddamn long?”
Darby picked up a metal spatula, then turned the browning shredded potato and onion patties in the skillet, hoping that his question was rhetorical and didn’t require a response from her.
He glanced toward the stovetop and the food cooking there, then back at the barn.
“Turn it off.”
Darby blinked at him. “What?”
“I said turn off the food.” He stepped a little closer, his size alone menacing. “We’re going outside to see what’s happening.”
Darby’s throat made a clicking sound as she swallowed. “Maybe he’s getting some fresh eggs?” she ventured.
“Ted wouldn’t know a chicken from swine.” He grabbed her arm. “Come on.”
Darby scrambled to shut off the burners, then stumbled toward the door when he pushed her. Something cold and hard jabbed her side. She looked down to see what it was and gasped. From out of seemingly nowhere he had produced a silver six-shooter, fully cocked, his thumb on the trigger, the muzzle poking directly into her side.
“One wrong move, and yo
u’re history,” he breathed into her ear.
The two outside steps seemed to hover in front of her, but she somehow managed to navigate them, her feet hitting hard earth. John, please see the gun. Please.
A metallic click sounded. Darby squeezed her eyes shut, sure she was about to die. Her hands immediately sought her stomach, trying helplessly to protect the tiny life within.
“Don’t move,” a hard voice she barely recognized ordered.
John.
Darby went completely limp. The hand gripping her arm tightened and she yelped in pain.
“Let her go.”
The fugitive moved slightly, allowing John to see the gun he held to Darby’s side.
John cursed, but didn’t waver from where he held his own revolver pressed against the fugitive’s temple.
“You shoot, she comes with me,” the fugitive said, and Darby believed him. He actively eyed the barn area.
“Who are you looking for, Lyle?” John asked. “Your brother?” The questions earned him the guy’s attention. “That’s right. I put him out of commission the minute he came around the barn. And I fully intend to do the same to you.”
The man pressed the gun into her side harder, and Darby gasped.
John stood as solid as a metal pole, one hand holding his firearm, the other clenching and unclenching.
Tires spitting gravel sounded. Darby jerked her head to see what was probably every law-enforcement vehicle in a fifty-mile radius turn into her driveway, coming from both the east and the west, clogging the two-lane road, sirens blaring, lights flashing.
The man holding her backed toward the house, taking her with him.
“Tell me, Lyle, what would make you head back to the Jenkins place after all that went down?”
The fugitive grinned, a sinister gesture that sent bumps scattering across Darby’s skin. “I liked the scenery.”
“Bullshit.”
Darby remembered the piece she’d read following Violet’s death. “Oh, my God. You went looking for the money she reportedly stashed somewhere in the house, didn’t you?”
John cussed vividly. “Is that true?”
What a Woman Wants Page 17