Quake

by Tracey Alvarez

  “You’re trying to distract me again.” His voice was husky as he cupped her chin in one hand and kept her from pulling away. “I’ll allow it for now, as the things we need to say to each other shouldn’t be said in this house.”

  That she agreed on. “We’ll go to Dad’s together, then?” she asked.

  “On the condition that you don’t go inside.”

  She yanked away from him. “What?”

  “You’re the bait, not the prize. If he wants you, he’ll be watching. So you approach the front of your dad’s house slowly, make it look like you’re injured, while I enter the house from the back and take him down. You don’t get within hands’ reach of him.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. That’s the deal. That’s the only deal I’m prepared to make.”

  She huffed and fumed, trying to think of a reply that wouldn’t sound like a kid pitching a hissy fit.

  “Please don’t kid yourself thinking you can do this alone. Let me do this,” he said gruffly. “Ana, let me help you.”

  “I thought you didn’t want another damsel in distress in your life.”

  “I want you in my life, Ana Grace.” He swept a soft kiss across her lips. “And, honey? You ain’t no damsel.”

  She muttered an un-damsel-like suggestion, picked up the journal, and stalked from the room.

  Chapter 32

  Tuesday, July 27. 1:29 p.m. Seatoun, Wellington, New Zealand.

  * * *

  “It’s a two-story house.” Ana’s finger traced over the back of an envelope where she had sketched the rough layout of her father’s house.

  They were two streets away from it, and with each step Daniel became more and more tempted to tie her to the nearest telephone pole.

  “The garage and workshop is underneath,” she continued. “The living room is at the rear with a sheer drop down to the backyard. There’s one set of stairs going up to a side door on the top floor that leads into the laundry room, which then opens onto the hallway.”

  “Internal entrance from the garage?”

  She shook her head, the curls loosened from her braid dancing across her shoulders. At his insistence, Ana had crushed her clothes into wrinkles and smeared both pants and shirt with grime.

  He studied the diagram again while she crouched beside him, wrapping a length of ripped tomato-sauce-spotted white shirt around her calf. They’d raided Harrison’s wardrobe and refrigerator, as distasteful as it’d been, because Ana needed a visible reason for not hurrying up the street toward her father’s house. She tied the cotton off around her leg and took a few practice steps, going a little OTT with a fake limp that in other circumstances would’ve been cute.

  “Don’t oversell it. Remember what he teaches. Just take your time approaching the house, and with any luck he’ll spot you coming and be distracted enough to give me the opportunity to get inside. Right?”

  She sighed, her lower lip trembling. Before he changed his mind and really did tie her up somewhere safe, he stepped forward and tugged her into his arms. She clung to him and he buried his face in her hair.

  Why had he even agreed to her minimal involvement in this plan? A plan that could easily turn to a big fucking mess depending on so many variables that his brain hurt from examining them one by one. And from thinking about this Harrison guy watching Ana, hating her, wanting to hurt her. And worse. Cold crept over his scalp. The sick fuck could want her, but he wasn’t going to get close enough to Ana to even smell the sweetness of her perfume. Not gonna happen. Not on his watch.

  “Will you be careful, Daniel?” Her lips move against his chest. She pulled back far enough to look at him and roll her eyes. “Duh. That sounded dumb.”

  His heart punched into his throat. “That sounded like you want me around for a bit longer.”

  She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Damaged goods are useless to me, Farm Boy.”

  After one last kiss dropped on her forehead, he released her before he did something stupid. Like telling her he loved her.

  “I’ll keep that in mind. You’d better start limping.”

  Ana turned and walked away.

  Daniel shut his eyes, breathed deeply, and tried to regain his focus. Concentrate, Calder. Think about your breathing. Think about your muscles doing what they do best. Think about balance, energy distribution, placement of your hands and your feet.

  Without glancing in her direction again, he jogged down the driveway in front of him and easily scaled the wooden fence, dropping into the backyard of the neighboring house. For the next few minutes he didn’t think.

  Or feel.

  He ran, climbed, dropped, stretched, and ducked until he reached the fence bordering John Grace’s property, where he paused. Listening, scanning, evaluating. Gone was the amicable guy Ana had teasingly nicknamed Farm Boy. Only the soldier remained.

  A soldier on the most important mission of his life.

  Ana also concentrated on the movements her body made, rather than the barrage of conflicting thoughts about Theo, Daniel, and her dad that ping-ponged around her brain.

  Left foot forward, slightly drag the right to meet it. What if he’s hurt Theo? No. Don’t think like that. Another few steps. I hope Dad’s had his medication. Pause for a second, wipe brow. Do not glance at the houses on your right trying to see Daniel. What if the guy’s bigger than him? Overpowering? Stop it, that’s enough. Keep going.

  She could see her dad’s house at the end of the cul-de-sac, wedged between two other double-story houses. Fortunately they would block anyone inside the kitchen or spare bedroom from spotting Daniel making his way there.

  She only hoped that if something went wrong, the journal she had given to a civil defense worker with a note and instructions to hand-deliver them to Sergeant Miller would be enough for the senior officer to take action.

  She was getting her family back alive, one way or another.

  Ordinary neighborhood sounds followed her along the road. A teenager rumbled past on his skateboard, the tinny sounds of music pumping out of his headphones. Somewhere nearby a chainsaw hiccupped to life with a growl.

  Each faltering step disguised the surge of adrenaline pumping through her limbs that made her want to sprint toward the house. The flight or fight reaction tensed every muscle until it seemed she almost vibrated with the strain of not running like an out-of-control lunatic. Fear and fury battled for supremacy inside her. She kept her eyes downcast, terrified that if Harrison watched from the windows facing the street he’d immediately become suspicious of her telltale expressions.

  The footpath curved around the end of the cul-de-sac and she stepped off the curb and crossed the road, heading directly for the driveway.

  “Theo? Dad? Yoo-hoo, are you there?” she hollered.

  That should get the creep’s attention if he’s in there. She plastered what she hoped was a pleasant smile on her face and continued to limp.

  The door swung inward as her feet touched the path to the house. Theo stood in shadows. A relieved greeting shimmered on her tongue as she took in Theo’s tousled hair and rumpled school shirt, then evaporated into a strangled moan. A large male hand clenched the back of her son’s nape, a knife blade poised under his jaw. The man holding him was hidden by the door angle but Ana had no doubt who it was.

  Chapter 33

  Tuesday, July 27. 1:42 p.m. Seatoun, Wellington, New Zealand.

  * * *

  Pressed up hard against the side of John Grace’s house, Daniel had watched Ana’s approach. Nerves or not, her lopsided gait looked convincingly real. From a distance anyway.

  He’d caught a break when a chainsaw started. Edging away from the corner, he’d backed up to the side stairs. Daniel had lunged, caught the handrail with one hand, and used the momentum to run his feet up the supporting posts and flip light-footedly on the small landing. He couldn’t risk one of the stair treads making a sound and alerting anyone inside.

  From this height he had a clear view of A
na. He twisted the door handle. Locked. He blew out a breath; a locked door wasn’t unexpected, just irritating. He needed to get in fast before Ana got too close. Breaking the glass in the door or kicking it down would draw unwanted attention.

  His eyes flicked left and right. There—a window left open in the room Ana had indicated was a spare bedroom. It was an old-fashioned double hung one; the bottom section slid up to allow fresh air inside. A six-foot gap stretched between where he stood and the opening. Doable. The hard part would be taking his eyes off Ana and making the jump without sounding as if a herd of rhinos had rammed into the side of the house.

  Ana calling out snagged his attention back to the road. She stopped at the edge of the driveway, a slight smile on her face. Give his woman an Oscar. She must be out of her mind with terror, but she had the casual inquiring look down pat.

  Then Ana’s smile slashed open into a startled O, her gaze locked on something in front of her, out of his line of sight. Even before she lurched forward, Daniel knew she was going in.

  Goddammit, woman. He balanced precariously on the handrail and hurled himself at the open window.

  Ana had expected the inside of her dad’s house to be like a dark, dank cave, complete with a comic-book villain lurking in the shadows. Instead, when she stepped through the front door, bright sunshine streamed speckled patterns over the carpet and the tang of pine-scented cleaner permeated the air.

  Her gaze whipped to the right, where the bulky outline of a man stood behind her son. She registered Theo’s wide, impossibly bulging eyes, the tremble in his lower lip, and his arms straining behind his back.

  The man spoke.

  “Shut the door.”

  His perfectly modulated voice reminded her of a smooth-talking radio deejay. She nudged the door closed behind her and looked up at the man holding her son.

  She blinked.

  In all her imaginings of Harrison Burbank in the last few hours, she kept returning to the image of a skinny little boy in a stained T-shirt and grubby jeans, watching her over his shoulder as his mother dragged him away. Her mental picture of him as an adult had transformed him from a boy into a stony-eyed thug with an ugly snarl twisting his mouth.

  But there was nothing ugly about the man in front of her. Tall, muscles sleek and hard beneath a spotlessly white button-down shirt, twinkling hazel eyes, and a winsome smile, he could’ve auditioned for a major Hollywood production. If she’d spotted him on the street with a group of friends as a younger woman, she would’ve nudged them and whispered, “Eye candy at twelve o’clock.”

  His attractiveness repelled her.

  She preferred her imagination’s concoction. There was something much more chilling about evil when it came packaged in a pretty wrapper.

  Get your game face on, she thought. If you panic or show weakness, you’re history. Be composed. In control. She straightened to her full height, fisted her hands on her hips, arched a haughty eyebrow, and ignored the rampaging of her pulse.

  “Let my son go—”

  Ana bit back his name at the last second. She had to step cautiously. Had to decide what information to reveal and what to keep hidden. She had to distract him with careful questions and keep him talking.

  It was like being a criminal lawyer all over again.

  Questioning a witness or expert on the stand was a complicated dance. You always knew when they intended to slide to the left, because if you had done your homework, you knew which direction they would move in. An experienced defense lawyer never asked a question she didn’t already know the answer to. But people were unpredictable and sometimes the answer you were expecting wasn’t the one given.

  So pull on those lawyer shoes, honey. This is the trial of your life.

  “I don’t think so, Ms. Grace.” He rotated the tip of the blade under Theo’s chin and a red pearl welled up, spilling across the shiny steel surface. “Do you know who I am?”

  Theo arched his neck away and whimpered.

  Ana swallowed and forced herself not to reach for her son. “No. Why don’t you explain it to me since I’ve no idea who you are or why you’re holding a knife to the throat of an innocent boy?” That statement was for Daniel’s benefit and she prayed he was close enough to hear it.

  “To answer your first question, let’s just say I’m yo’ brotha from anudda motha,” he said in a flawlessly mimicked gangster accent.

  A nuclear blast of heat scaled through her then drained away, leaving an icy pit in the bottom of her stomach. Her mind whipped through possible translations of such an unexpected statement. Harrison thought he was her brother? Thought that he was the result of John Grace raping his mother? Oh. Shit. The tenuous situation just got a million times worse.

  “You’re mistaken.” Her voice remained remarkably steady considering the speed of blood thrumming past her vocal chords. “I don’t have a brother.”

  “Into the living room, bitch lawyer. We’ll discuss it there.”

  Harrison tucked Theo into a headlock and dragged him backward down the short hallway, her son’s body twisting enough to the side that she spotted his bound wrists. She followed, trying to convey love and strength to Theo with only eye contact.

  A huge blue tarpaulin stretched across most of the living room’s broken picture window and cast an eerie blue light over the familiar furnishings, making them look otherworldly. A soft breeze outside buffeted the tarp, filling the silence with restless snaps and pops. Slumped awkwardly on one of the two-seater sofas, his arms also pinned behind him, sprawled her father. A purple bruise spread along his sagging jawline. He turned his face up to her as she entered the room, exposing a blackened eye nearly swollen shut.

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

  “Feisty old fella, our daddy,” Harrison said with a chuckle. “Took a few pops to subdue him, but he settled down. Eventually.”

  “Hitting an elderly man and overpowering a kid proves beyond a doubt in my mind that we’re not related.” Her teeth clenched together.

  “Au contraire, you snotty bitch—or shall I call you Ana? That’s friendlier, isn’t it?” He cocked his head and his grin widened. “Theo here has been learning all about his family tree, haven’t you, my little nephew?”

  “Mum,” Theo croaked, his eyes straining to look down at the knife that had reappeared at his throat.

  “Yeah, it was quite the lesson, wasn’t it? Finding out that your granddad was a filthy rapist who abandoned his kid—” Harrison flicked his gaze back to her. “—and that would be me, Ana, sweetheart—and left the woman he violated to wallow in alcohol and depression while she screwed up that said kid.”

  Ana slid a glance toward her dad, who solemnly met her stare with an intensity she knew meant he was silently trying to communicate. She didn’t dare nod, but she got it. Her dad hadn’t corrected the sick bastard waving a knife around. Hadn’t told him there was no possible way they were biologically related, since he’d had a vasectomy when Ana was a girl, seven years before he and Patricia had even started working together.

  “I remember you now,” she said, keeping her voice gentle. Trying to keep him calm but thinking—oh God, the knife, the knife. “I saw you with your mother when you were a little boy. Your name is Harrison.”

  His smile slipped a notch. “You remember that, huh? You and your mum have a nice day shopping? Nice girlie time together? You want to know what I got from my mother that day? A black eye. Because I had the nerve to ask her, since that was my father’s wife, why couldn’t I go and live with them.”

  Underneath the raw fury in his voice she sensed a delicate thread of longing. She met his gaze, a battle taking place in her own mind to not look away. “I’m sorry your mother hurt you and that no one stepped in to help. We didn’t even know about you.”

  The knife wavered an inch away from Theo’s throat. “Ma said hell would freeze over before she asked for child support from my father.”

  Likely because the woman knew Harrison wasn’t John’s child. S
he spied a flash of movement behind Harrison’s shoulder, back in the gloom of the hallway leading to the bedroom and kitchen. Thank God, Daniel was in the house. She deliberately kept her gaze steady on Harrison’s face.

  “She disappeared up north and I never heard from her again. I didn’t know she was pregnant.” John tried to sit up straighter on the sofa, but his tied arms prevented it.

  Ana longed to help him, but couldn’t risk it.

  “I keep telling you, son,” John continued tiredly. “I made a terrible mistake getting involved with Patricia, and I know I infuriated her by breaking off the affair because I wouldn’t leave my wife—and she took it out on you, and I’m sorry for that.”

  Harrison said nothing but his grip on Theo loosened and the knife retreated an inch from her son’s throat.

  “Isn’t this all about family?” she asked. “The sense of belonging, being supported and loved no matter what you’ve done or where you’ve come from? I know it’s too late to change what happened in your childhood, and I can’t imagine how devastating your mother’s suicide must have been, but—”

  The moment the words spilled out in her passionate appeal, she knew she’d made an error of monumental proportions.

  Chapter 34

  Tuesday, July 27. 1:46 p.m. Seatoun, Wellington, New Zealand.

  * * *

  “What did you say?” Harrison’s voice rumbled low and menacing, like a stray dog realizing it had been cornered. “How do you know my mother killed herself?”

  “I…ah…” Ana’s brain flash-froze and ice crackled through her nervous system. Quick, quick, what should I say?

  Harrison thrust Theo toward the other sofa, where he fell in a tangled heap. He swung back to her, the knife in his hand aimed at her heart.

  “How. Do. You. Know. Bitch?”