Circling left while Dylan went right, they met at the rear of the property and entered the fenced yard.
Grace didn’t try to mask her worry. Looking at her husband she could tell he shared those angst-ridden sentiments. “What now?”
“We search the garage, just in case, then go back inside.”
“To call the marshals?”
He was grimacing as he nodded and said, “Yes. It looks like we could use their expertise.”
Something inside Grace insisted she try to think of ways to make their situation bearable, if not for Dylan, for herself. “I’m sure this isn’t the first time a child has run away from protective custody,” she offered. “Do you think Kyle was actually mad enough to take off?”
“I hope so,” Dylan said soberly.
“You hope so? Why?”
“Because if he did leave on his own, that means he’s still relatively safe. If he didn’t...”
That unfinished sentence gave Grace the shivers all the way to the marrow of her bones. It seemed crazy to wish their ten-year-old had run away from home, yet she had to agree with Dylan. Kyle must have left in a huff.
The alternative was simply too horrible to consider.
SEVENTEEN
“Okay,” Dylan said. “While I call the authorities, you go find the other kids and corral them, just in case. I’ll start with Marshal McCall since he’s the guy Colton Phillips talked to earlier.”
Watching his wife’s shoulders droop gave Dylan a jolt. If the indomitable Grace McIntyre was that disheartened over their son’s disappearance, she must be far more frantic than she was letting on. He could identify with that. The moment he’d heard that Kyle was missing he’d had a hollow feeling the size of a Smart Car in the pit of his stomach.
He pulled out his cell, reported that they were unable to locate Kyle and was instructed to stay in the house and wait. Their relocation team was on its way and local authorities had been alerted to keep an eye out for the missing boy as they cruised the neighborhood.
Dylan had just ended that call when the phone vibrated, startling him so much he almost dropped it. Had the marshals forgotten to tell him something?
“Hello?” he began before his hopes were dashed.
“Nice to hear your voice again.”
“Who is this?” Dylan demanded.
“Never you mind, buddy. We just wanted to make sure you figured out what was going on. It’d be real sad if something happened to the kids.”
“What kids? You must have the wrong number.”
The caller laughed hoarsely. “Oh, we’ve got your number, all right, in more ways than one. It’s too bad we had to go to plan B.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Dylan figured stalling and denial were his best options. When Grace returned with the other cell phone, he would signal her and she could contact the authorities ASAP while he kept this caller busy.
The man’s next expression began as a laugh and ended sounding more like an animal’s growl. “The crash, you fool. Did you think it was an accident?”
At this point, Dylan was tempted to insist the guy had the wrong party and hang up. He didn’t. The more he could get this person to admit, the more information he’d have for McCall or whoever he sent in his place.
“You were there this morning? Are you a reporter?”
“You really are dense, man. Yeah, I was there. I was in your garage to fix your car the night before, too. That padlock is a real joke. So, how’d you like your brake job?”
“I’ve had better.” Anger was beginning to boil to the surface and Dylan didn’t fight it. This lowlife had tried to injure him and could easily have wiped out his entire family. Nobody was going to get away with that if he could help it.
“Yeah, well, I aim to please.” The thug chuckled. “You did give us a run for our money, McIntyre. If it hadn’t been for those dumb kids of yours we might still be looking for you.”
So, that was how they’d been found. “What do my kids have to do with this?”
“Plenty. For starters, your girl talks too much.”
“Simms? This goes back to him?”
“Not so fast,” the gruff caller said. “It was your boy who started the ball rolling. Guess he was lonesome. He called a couple of his friends in St. Louis. After that, we had you cold.”
“Kyle used the phone?” Suddenly those times when his cell had ended up in strange places were starting to make sense. So was the rundown battery in Grace’s unit. The boy had apparently availed himself of whichever telephone he could lay his hands on, then had returned it without being caught. No wonder he’d been acting so strangely. He not only had a chip on his shoulder, he had a guilty conscience.
“Yeah,” the man said. “He’s quite a little communicator.”
Dylan was gritting his teeth. At this juncture there was no use denying who they were or where they lived. Their enemies seemed to have everything figured out. The only puzzlement was this phone call. Why would an assassin bother to warn them?
“What do you want?”
“I’m the one who should be asking you that question.” Another wry chuckle. “Seen your oldest kid lately?”
Icy fingers of fear crept up Dylan’s spine and nearly strangled him. “What are you talking about?”
“I think you know. It was actually easy. We caught him climbing out his bedroom window.”
Dylan’s jaw went slack. At the periphery of his vision he sensed movement. His head snapped around. It was Grace. And the other children. How long had they been standing there? How much had they overheard? Judging by their stricken expressions, plenty.
“Tell me what you want. I don’t have much money, but...”
“Oh, puh-leeze. We’re after something much more important. Your silence. It’s simple. If you testify, the kid dies.” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that.”
“Wait! Let’s talk about this.”
“Why? It’s not open to discussion.”
Dylan’s mind was spinning. There had to be something better to offer for Kyle’s freedom than mere money. Even if he’d still had access to the assets he’d once treasured they probably wouldn’t be enough to ransom his son.
His heart and mind called out to God. In moments, peace and calm flowed over him. He was assured of what course to take. Now, all he had to do was convince Kyle’s kidnappers to accept his plan.
“I have a better idea,” Dylan said, fighting to keep any hint of nervousness out of his voice. “Instead of babysitting him for months while we wait for the trial, why not trade him for me? That way you’ll be positive I won’t talk.”
“Oh, sure, and you’ll have the cops waiting to grab us when we show up for the exchange.”
“I won’t, I swear. I’ll do anything you say, meet anytime, any place you tell me to. Just let my son go.”
After a heavy silence, the caller said, “We’ll think about it. Stay close to the phone. I’ll call you back if we decide to take your offer. And no cops. Understand? They show up, the kid dies.”
“I understand.” Dylan was so shaken and so relieved he almost blurted an undeserved, “Thank you.”
* * *
Grace didn’t have to hear both sides of her husband’s conversation to get the gist of it. The agony in his eyes told her more than enough, and when he began to negotiate to trade himself for their son she felt faint.
Blinking away the flashing, colored lights on the fringes of her vision and taking deep, shaky breaths, she managed to hang on to her equilibrium long enough to reach Dylan’s side. “Tell me,” she demanded. The children were holding on to his knees and he laid a hand atop each of their heads in turn, ruffling their hair. “Not here. Not now.”
Grace bit her lower lip and waited for him to elaborate.
When he did not, she demanded, “Yes. I want the whole story.”
She watched her husband take a faltering breath before he said, “They have Kyle.”
“You believe it?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Did you recognize the caller’s voice?”
“No. Come on. I need to check something in the boys’ bedroom.”
Because he grabbed her hand and tugged, she stayed with him, although her shock and anger were almost enough to make her jerk away from his touch. This crisis definitely called for sticking together but that didn’t mean she was ready to stop blaming Dylan. For everything.
One glance behind told Grace the other two children were following. She gritted her teeth and bit back the sobs that were almost choking off her oxygen. If what she thought she’d overheard Dylan saying to the thug on the phone was true, she might be close to losing almost half of her little family.
It wasn’t fair. None of this was. Grace was about to say so when they came to the closed door to the boys’ room. Dylan gave it a push.
She felt his grip on her fingers tighten and peered past him. “What is it? I don’t see anything wrong.”
“The window,” he said, keeping his response low. “They said they caught him climbing out this window. Look. It’s wide open and the screen is missing.”
It was all she could do to stay on her feet, let alone speak intelligibly. “They really have him?”
The fact that her husband was silently nodding didn’t make nearly as big an impact on her fragile emotional condition as something else about him did. There were unshed tears glistening in his eyes.
* * *
If Dylan had been able to make his unknown enemies contact him again by the sheer power of his will, they already would have. Grace had always been the one in their family who lacked patience but his anxiety now rivaled hers—and she was a ticking time bomb.
Pacing, he kept scowling at his cell phone and checking the time.
“It’s not going to ring any faster if you walk the floor with it.” Grace kept clasping and unclasping her hands.”
“I can’t sit still.”
“Then come with me while I pack for the kids so I have something to do, too.”
“You don’t need my help with that.”
“All right,” she said haltingly. “Let me put it this way. I don’t want to be alone right now. Satisfied?”
“Completely.”
Crossing the small living room, he followed her through the door to the other side of the duplex. Could she have meant she actually wanted to keep him close, or was he imagining more personal interest because that was what he yearned for? It really didn’t matter at this point. What did count was getting their son back.
Dylan had recognized that there was only one way to accomplish that and had offered himself in Kyle’s place because it was necessary. He knew what he was doing, he simply wasn’t convinced that Grace would let him go. The marshals certainly wouldn’t allow it if they knew what he’d planned, which reminded him of another problem.
“I need to call McCall back and tell him Kyle is staying at a friend’s house so he cancels the search and doesn’t show up here himself.”
She had reached for a tissue and was blotting her tears. “Hold on a second. Aren’t you going to let him help capture the kidnappers?”
“No,” Dylan said flatly. “After you get Kyle back, you can inform the marshals about what I’ve done. But not a peep until the boy is safe and sound.”
“That’s crazy.” Grace was nearly shrieking at him.
“Only if something goes wrong.”
She rolled her eyes and threw her hands in the air. Rivers of tears were streaming down her pale cheeks once again and her eyes were puffy. “What can possibly go wrong? My son has been kidnapped. My husband is planning to trust some crooks he doesn’t know. And a bunch of people connected to the baby-stealing ring were murdered in jail.” She sniffled, gulping back noisy sobs. “Where did you get your brains? In a box of breakfast cereal?”
He knew there was no way he’d be able to convince her that his way was best, particularly when she was so hysterical, yet he continued to believe they had no other choice.
She finally pulled herself together enough to ask, “What do we do if they don’t accept your offer?”
“Then we contact McCall or one of the other marshals, I guess.” Dylan raked his fingers through his hair as was his habit when thinking. “I don’t want you anywhere near me when we make the trade.”
“I am not letting you do this alone. Kyle is my son, too.”
“Think for a second. We have no safe place to leave Beth and Brandon and we don’t want them involved. It’s too dangerous.” He pressed his lips into a thin line of determination. “It’s bad enough that Kyle has to be there.”
“Who’s going to take charge of him when the criminals take you away? Huh? Have you thought of that?”
“No.” Dylan heaved a noisy sigh. “One catastrophe at a time, Gracie. They haven’t even called back yet.”
“You still think they will, don’t you?”
“It’s the smartest thing they can do. My hope is that their boss, whoever he is, didn’t get his brains out of a cereal box the way I got mine.”
“I shouldn’t have said that.” When she laid her hand on his arm, her fingers were trembling. “I’m just so scared.”
“We’re all in God’s hands,” Dylan reminded her. “I do believe God is on the side of good. It’s just that I also know He may have other plans than what we’d prefer.”
“Amen.”
Opening his arms, Dylan offered an embrace and was relieved when his wife accepted it in spite of her off-putting agitation and righteous anger.
Each time they touched, no matter how innocently, he and Grace seemed to grow closer, more emotionally and spiritually connected. Truth to tell, he imagined that they were more “one” at that moment than they had been in the days of their supposedly ideal marriage.
As Grace laid her cheek on his chest and he placed a kiss on her silky red hair, Dylan silently thanked his heavenly Father.
Unexpected warmth swirled around them, as tangible as if God were wrapping them in a blanket of His peace and divine, everlasting love.
That was the moment when Dylan realized they might very well be receiving this experience as a special gift. A beautiful, lasting memory that he could call upon to sustain him in the coming trials and that Grace could cling to for solace if and when he was taken from her.
As sobering as that thought was, he nevertheless gave thanks. Many men never had the chance to make peace with those they had wronged and he had already accomplished that much. To hold his wife like this, to know how much he cared for her and to impart that love in a physical and spiritual way was a lot more than he deserved. A lot more than he had hoped for when he’d been praying for the restoration of his broken marriage.
Dylan tightened his hold, unmindful of the pain in his bruised ribs, and felt her answering squeeze. He desperately wanted to confess his renewed devotion, yet he feared Grace was not in the right state of mind to hear and accept it.
Then again, if she did share that same sense of deep, abiding love, his declaration might cause her to behave in a way that was not in her best interests.
He had to handle the exchange of prisoners on his own. Without Grace’s help. It was the only way he could be assured she’d remain safe. The only way he saw to preserve what was left of the family he had nearly thrown away because of greed and a misguided sense of right and wrong.
The guilt was his and his alone. He would face the consequences the same way. Alone—except for Jesus Christ.
Just as Dylan was entertaining that very thought, his cell phone rang and he released Grace to answer it.
“Yes?”
“We’re ready to trade.”
Dylan nodded as he said, “Agreed.”
The plan was in motion.
There was no turning back now.
EIGHTEEN
If Grace hadn’t cared what happened to her husband and innocent son she might have let Dylan handle things his way. It was the concept of losing them both that spurred her to act.
Once Dylan had confided the details of his upcoming rendezvous with Kyle and the kidnappers, she knew what she must do.
Mulling over possibilities, she realized that to look out for the other two children, she would be forced to recruit outside help, probably from the marshal’s office.
When Dylan had first told her about how the trade was to take place she had been astounded. In the movies, criminals always chose an out-of-the-way site. These men had told Dylan to meet them at a fancy shopping mall in the Uptown District of Houston. The development consisted of the Galleria for shopping, an office complex, two luxury hotels and a private health club. Actually, it was a perfect place for a person to blend into a crowd and escape, if necessary.
Palming her cell phone, Grace shooed the children into the rear yard to play while she carried out her strategy. Clouds were beginning to scud across the formerly clear sky and the wind had picked up enough that she could predict a storm in the near future. Ironically, the weather matched the dark, frightening turbulence in her heart and mind.
It was Marshal Serena Summers who picked up the phone this time. “Summers.”
“This is Mary Grace Appleby,” she began, cupping the tiny phone in her hands and turning her back to the house and the gusty wind so her thick, red hair would fully mask what she was doing.
“Has there been more trouble? Your husband called about a half hour ago and told us to stand down because you’d located Kyle.”
“We...we know where he is. Sort of. It’s a lot more complicated than what Dylan told you.”
Family in Hiding Page 17