by Nika Dixon
But between dips and lifts, a tiny red light flickered.
“What the hell is it?”
Despite the insanity of the situation, Sam started laughing. “It’s a car alarm flasher. The idiots locked the doors.”
Marshall stared at the little dot glowing like a pretty beacon of big-city thinking.
“Sam, you think you can disable the vehicle without setting off the alarm?” Danny asked.
Sam nodded. “I’m sure I can think of something.”
“Take Bailey. We’ll take the creek and meet you around back.”
Bailey and Sam split off and headed right.
“I’ll have to thank him for being so paranoid,” Danny said, heading back into the trees. “After I kill him.”
Marshall eagerly urged Castor to follow.
If they were going to be removing Alexander from the world on a permanent basis, then he damn well wanted an equal opportunity to be the asshole’s grim reaper.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Pain exploded across Emma’s cheek.
It took her several breaths before she was able to register what was happening. The world spun dangerously, then settled in with a pounding pulse in her temples. She pressed her hand to her throbbing face. She was lying on the ground. No, a floor. A cold wooden floor, one that smelled like dust and dirt.
Her right hand twitched as her fingers tried to finish the drawing, the shadow shapes of the image still burned into her mind.
She wasn’t done.
So why wasn’t she still drawing?
Confused and hurting, she rolled onto her side, bumping into an overturned chair. Remnants of the glass jar that held the colored pencils lay shattered on the floor, the shards sparkling in the light of the lantern.
The where and why of what was happening came back to her with the speed of a switch. She scrambled to her feet. Alan was standing on the other side of the table, holding her sketchbook and smiling at her drawing. Victor was looming in the shadows at the back of the barn. She spun around, searching for David, fearing he might be lurking behind her, but he wasn’t anywhere to be seen.
She turned back to Lucy, relieved to see the girl was in the exact same spot, unharmed. Tears dripped off her chin in a steady stream, but she was bravely keeping her frightened sobs to quiet hitches of breath.
Emma dipped her chin, nodding with as little movement as possible. “It’s okay,” she mouthed.
Lucy blinked, bit her lip, and gave her head a tiny little bob in response.
Alan balanced the sketchbook in one hand as if he was about to present it to the world. “Look, Victor. Look!” He ran his hand lovingly over the top of her first sketch. A long wooden table extended across the page, its surface covered in squares of green and black.
Money. Stacks and stacks of it.
“Millions,” he said with an excited exhale. “There has to be millions here.”
“Six hundred million, seven hundred fifty-two thousand, eight hundred and three,” Emma corrected.
“Six hundred million.” Alan’s laugh echoed into the rafters.
Victor clamped him on the shoulder. “Congratulations, Mr. A.”
He held the image at arm’s length. “Maybe I’ll frame it. What do you think? Hang it in the office?”
Victor nodded like the obedient dog he was. “It’s good. It’s good.”
Alan put the sketchbook down on the small table and turned to the next page. For her second drawing, she had produced a long line of men flowing left to right. His inner circle. His most trusted and most loyal. Killers and thieves. They were all on their knees, their hands clasped in front of them in dutiful submission.
“Wow, Mr. A,” Victor said with reverence. He tapped one of the heads in the middle. “Even that idiot Marook is showing you respect!”
Alan flashed a wide, pleased grin. “You have outdone yourself this time, Emmaline.”
She hated his praise. It was as false and evil as he was.
When he reached down to expose the last image, fear propelled her heart into a racing gallop. What she needed to show him was crystal clear in her mind, but she had no way of knowing how much of it she had put to paper before Victor had knocked her to the floor.
Alan peeled the paper back, exposing the scene.
Her stomach lurched up into her throat.
She took a step closer to Lucy but froze when Victor narrowed his eyes at her.
Forced to remain in place, Emma pressed her hand over her racing heart and waited for Alan to register the final truth.
The sketch showed him with his arms raised above his head. His body and suit were done to perfection, his hair perfectly coiffed, but she hadn’t completed his face. In the right corner, a single line started with a curve, then ended in a long scratch torn through the paper.
Her fingers twitched.
She should have finished.
Victor nodded approvingly. “You look like you just scored a touchdown, Mr. A.”
Alan tossed the sketchbook onto the table with a flourish. “I told you, Victor.”
“You did, Mr. A. You did.”
Alan opened his arms wide. She braced herself for the sickening touch of his hug, but he changed his mind and picked at the wet material of her hoodie instead.
He scowled in disgust. “You’re a mess, Emmaline.” He spun her around and shoved her at Victor. “Tie her up.”
Victor dragged her back to the post and shoved her down to her knees beside Lucy. In seconds, the rope was once again biting into her wrists.
Alan carefully removed his three drawings from the sketchbook. He gingerly folded them and tucked them into his pocket. He closed the book and handed it to Victor. “It’s a little cold in here, Victor. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Sure do, Mr. A.” Victor grinned and pulled a silver lighter from his pocket. He clicked it on and off, on and off, flashing the tall flame then making it disappear. Then he held it to the edge of the paper book and started it burning.
Alan unhooked the lantern from the nail it was hanging on. “I hear you have a bit of a firebug in the area. Such a shame about the horses. Beautiful creatures. Too bad he’s now moved up to people.”
Firebug? Oh God!
Victor laughed as the flames ate up the corner of her sketchbook. He walked into the back of the barn and tossed the book onto a pile of straw. The straw quickly burst into flame.
Panic welled into Emma’s throat. She yanked against the ropes, giving no care to the pain scratching across her skin. “Alan, Please! Don’t do this! I’ll go with you! I’ll give you anything you want! I’ll never run away again, I swear!”
Alan tsked. “Begging is not very becoming, Emmaline.”
Ignoring her pleas and Lucy’s frightened cries, he followed Victor out of the barn and into the night.
Chapter Fifty-Six
The horses’ hooves sloshed through the muck of the muddy river. Rain bashed through the leaves above them with the force of a full shower, soaking everything. A flash of lightning outlined the spikes of the tree trunks that bordered the sides of the creek, making the wide, shallow creek bed feel more like a shadowy gorge.
When Marshall reached the designated meeting point, he stopped. The barn was a half mile to the north, and even though he couldn’t physically see it, he could picture it exactly as it would be in relation to the forest and the farmhouse. The SUV was there, which meant Emma and Lucy were also there—right within his reach.
“Don’t even think about it.” Danny rode up beside him. “We wait for Sam and Bailey.”
“Then they’d better get their asses in gear.”
Marshall had no idea how his brother was projecting calm and control when Marshall was cycling through worry, concern, anger, fear, and frustration so fast he was damn near dizzy.
A rumble of thunder rolled overhead, nearly drowning out the crisp snap of a branch.
“Sheriff?” a low voice called out. “It’s Romero.”
A human-shaped form ap
peared at the top of the riverbank.
Danny dismounted and sloshed through the water toward the new arrival. “What the hell are you doing here?”
The FBI agent slid down the rocky hill toward them, nearly falling twice before landing at the bottom. “I got your message about Alexander and Styles.”
“I meant, what the hell are you doing here.”
“Oh. One of your deputies said you’d be out here. Look, I get that Alexander has your kid, but going up against a guy like Alexander without a plan is suicide.”
“I’m sure we’ll figure something out,” Danny said firmly.
“I’ve been on this guy for years. He hasn’t gotten where he is without some serious skills. You want to get your daughter back alive, then let me help.”
“Help. Help like keeping Styles locked up? Oh, wait. You didn’t. Because he’s right here in Absolution…kidnapping my daughter.”
Marshall hopped off his horse. Someone else was headed their way. It had to be one of Romero’s people. Despite the wind, rain, and thunder, the idiots were making more noise than a stampede.
“You go barging in there like the Lone Ranger, and the only thing you’ll accomplish is getting yourself killed,” Romero told Danny. “Go home and let my people handle it from here.”
“What kind of jurisdictional bullshit are you trying to pull?” Danny snarled.
Marshall turned his back on the argument. The snap and crunch of branches was getting louder. Whoever it was, they were coming in fast. Maybe it wasn’t one of Romero’s guys—unless they were running blind through the trees? Although he wouldn’t really have put it past a bunch of suits, trying to shove their way through a pine forest instead of following the open access of a creek bed.
A furry blur exploded from the top of the bank.
Drift?
The dog crashed into Romero, knocking him over.
After a second of shocked staring, Danny jumped forward, ordering Drift to back down, but the dog was hearing none of it. He snapped and growled at Romero, who was cursing and shielding his face.
A pair of horses flew up the riverbed, mud and water splashing beneath the hooves. Sam and Bailey stopped behind the other horses. Sam jumped down and ordered Drift to back off. The dog retreated but continued bare his teeth and growl at Romero.
Danny helped Romero up then quickly ran his flashlight beam over him, searching for blood or injuries. “Are you okay? He bite you?”
Romero shook mud and water off his arms. He glared at Sam. “Is that your goddamn dog? You’re lucky I didn’t shoot him!”
“You son of a bitch!” Sam exclaimed. He released his hold on Drift’s collar and tackled Romero into the water. “Don’t you fuckin’ move!”
Drift jumped back into the mix, a teeth-baring growl only inches from Romero’s face.
“Jesus, Sam, what the hell are you doing?” Danny demanded. “He’s FBI!”
Facedown in the shallow water, Romero twisted his head, coughing and cursing. “Get off me, you damn redneck! I’ll have your badge for this!”
“Shut up, asshole.” Sam snapped his handcuffs around Romero’s wrists. He yanked the gun out of Romero’s holster and pocketed it. Then he patted Romero from head to toe. “He’s not FBI. He’s a damn con artist!”
“How the hell do you know that?” Danny demanded.
“Emma.” Sam roughly yanked his prisoner to a seated position. “He works for Alexander. His name is Hopps. Isn’t that right, jackass?”
Marshall stared at the man in the muck, his brain numb with shock. The fed wasn’t a fed? He was one of the men who’d hurt Emma? Who’d taken Lucy?
The man in the mud spat a mouthful of muddy river water to the side and glared up at Sam. “Little bitch is going to have to be taught to shut her mouth.”
Marshall was on him before he could even think about doing it. It took both Sam and Danny to pull him off, but not before he got in a knuckle-splitting workout.
Hopps’s face was a bloody mess.
Danny grabbed Hopps by the lapels and gave him a violent shake. “Where’s my daughter?”
Hopps laughed despite his split lip and bloody mouth. “Cute kid ya got there, Sheriff. She’ll make someone a real nice house pet.”
This time it was Danny who had to be restrained from beating the man on the ground.
Sam hauled Hopps to his feet and shoved him toward Bailey. “Get him back to the station—walk him, drag him—I don’t care. And put in a call to the real FBI. I’m sure they’ll be happy to hear we’re cleaning up their damn mess.”
Bailey grabbed a rope from his saddle. “You heard the man. Walk or drag?”
Ignoring Hopps’s protesting about mistreatment, Danny gave Marshall a shove toward his horse. “Come on, big brother. Let’s get our girls back.”
Chapter Fifty-Seven
The flames were eating the back of the barn. The heat was strong enough that Emma’s hoodie was starting to dry. Caging her fear, she craned herself around to try and reach the knots in Lucy’s rope.
The girl was jerking back and forth, wailing.
“Lucy, stop!” Emma buried her face in her sleeve and tried to breathe in air that didn’t burn her throat. The material tasted of mud and the salt of her own tears. Turning back to the knots, she pried at the rope, hissing as her fingernails bent and broke. But it started to give. She tugged and pulled until one of the ends finally moved several inches.
Lucy wriggled her hands free. “You did it!” She spun around and started to pull at the knot binding Emma’s hands.
At the back of the barn, one of the rafters crashed to the floor, sending fireworks of sparks and embers into the air. A gust of heat blasted across them, making it hard to catch a full breath.
“Lucy, no, you have to go. Get out of here!”
“No. You’re coming with me.” Lucy coughed and cried as she fought with the knot. One loop finally gave, and Emma’s left hand broke free. Ignoring the heavy twine still wrapped around her right wrist, she scrambled to her feet with a cry of victory. Shoving Lucy in front of her, she ran for the open door, the remnants of rope dragging behind her like a frayed leash.
Lucy screamed when Victor stepped into the opening, blocking the exit.
“Crafty little bitch,” he snarled, grabbing Lucy and giving her a shake.
Emma jumped for his arm, using all her strength to try and pry Lucy free. He clamped his fingers around Emma’s wrist and twisted. A knifing pain shot straight up her arm and into her shoulder. With all the effort of a man shooing a fly, he tossed her aside. She crashed to the floor, smashing her head and shoulder. She lay on her back, too stunned to move, until Lucy’s pleading screams broke through the fog.
Emma tried to push herself upright, but the pain in her arm was excruciating. She fell back to the floor with a cry.
Victor laughed and jiggled Lucy in the air like a puppet. “Never torched a kid before!”
Tucking her useless hand across her waist, Emma ran at his back, with no plan of attack other than saving Lucy. But before she could reach him, she was tripped up by a speeding blur. She landed awkwardly on the floor, smashing her injured arm.
White spots danced across her eyes, and the world swirled dizzily. She had to keep moving. She had to save Lucy! But Lucy didn’t need saving. She was crawling across the floor toward Emma, crying.
Emma threw her good arm around the girl and hugged her close. Lucy clung tightly, babbling something unintelligible and pointing at the back of the barn.
In front of a burning stall, Victor was rolling around, fighting with a small bear while the fire ate at his legs.
Emma rubbed the smoke and tears from her eyes.
Not a bear. A dog.
Lucy’s words finally registered. “Drift!”
If he was here, then his owner would be, too!
Emma tugged Lucy to her feet and shoved her toward the doors. “Go! Find Sam!”
Lucy ran out the door.
Emma backed toward the fresh
air, calling for Drift—begging the dog to escape before the flames got him, too.
Drift backed away from Victor, barking furiously.
Victor bellowed. He spun around in a circle, frantically trying to tear his burning jacket off and pound the fire from his legs. He crashed into the table. It flew up and smashed into his legs. It tripped him up and he lost his balance, falling backward into a fire-drenched stall. The wall collapsed, burying him in blackened boards and burning beams.
Horrified and disgusted, Emma ran for safety. The rain hit her with the force of a shower spray. She slipped in the mud and fell to her knees, doing her best to cradle her injured arm.
A soppy, wet lapping against her cheeks had her laughing despite the pain in her hand.
Victor was gone.
Forever.
Drift kept licking her teary, rain-drenched face until she finally pushed him away. “Go find Lucy. Go, Drift. Find Lucy!”
Drift barked twice, bounced around in a full circle, then sped off through the rain.
Emma rose to her feet, swayed dizzily, and stumbled after him.
With the light of the fire, the land around her was glowing orange. She had no idea where she was or where she should go, so she followed Drift.
She lost her footing in the muck and landed hard on her hip, jarring her arm. She bent over and clutched it to her abdomen, but the cradled position didn’t make any difference—it still throbbed madly. She squinted through the rain. The dog was gone. There was nothing out there but fire-lit trees and a torrent of rain.
For a brief moment, she stayed in the muck, not sure how she was going to find the strength to keep moving. She was soaked through and freezing, and her body was rebelling. She was shaking violently with every breath.
But she was out of his clutches.
And Lucy was free.
But David and Alan were out there somewhere, and who knew how many others he’d brought. She had to keep going. She had to warn Marshall. She had to tell the sheriff.