Vicious Cycle

by Terri Blackstock

  A cross town, Barbara sat by the phone with Emily, watching the news for some mention of Lance. Part of her still expected him to come ambling up the driveway with some perfectly logical explanation for where he’d been. After all, they didn’t know for sure he’d been kidnapped. But if Zeke hadn’t taken him, where was he? “Mom, it’s a press conference!” Emily’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts, and Barbara turned up the TV. The spokesman from the police department—the same one who talked to the press on every major case—stood in front of a podium with four or five microphones from the local channels.

  She listened, astonished, as they focused on the baby trafficking scheme and the missing baby and her mother, failing to mention anything about Lance. The public relations officer for the police department showed a poster with Zeke’s face.

  “If you have any information about the whereabouts of this individual, or information about someone you know who’s been approached to exchange her baby for cash, you’re asked to call the Jefferson City Police Department at 555–3214.”

  “Nobody will recognize that,” Emily said. “He doesn’t look like that anymore.”

  It was true. Zeke was at least thirty pounds lighter now. His meth use had left him a skeleton.

  Finally, the officer said that an AMBER Alert had been put out on Jordan, Lance, and the baby, and their pictures flashed up. The picture was one they’d taken from Lance’s Facebook page; it was last year’s school photo. His hair was shorter and he’d grown a lot since then. She hoped his image imprinted itself on viewers’ memories.

  “At least we don’t have to wait thirty-six hours or whatever for them to call him a missing person,” Emily said.

  Barbara sat down on the couch, put her arms between her knees, and tried to imagine what Zeke might do with them. If he was still trying to get the money the traffickers were paying for the baby, maybe that was all he wanted. As horrible as it would be for the baby to be handed over, at least Lance might be unharmed.

  But a lump rose in her throat as she realized that no one involved would let Lance go if he were a witness. In fact, there was only one reason Zeke would have taken him in the first place. To kill him.

  If Lance were dead, would she know, somewhere deep in her gut? Would there be some jolt of pain the moment he stopped breathing?

  “Mom, are you all right?”

  Barbara looked at Emily and thought of telling her that, yes, she was fine … that everything would be all right.

  But she couldn’t force any words out of her throat. Slowly, she shook her head.

  Chapter 56

  Jordan didn’t sink as quickly as Lance had, because she’d developed a tolerance to the effects of all kinds of drugs. She kept fighting, trying to keep them from giving her another dose. But they held her down and injected her again.

  Then she heard a baby crying. Wrestling away from them, she tried to get to the door. The cry was coming from the other side of the hangar, in one of the cars … or in the plane. She struggled to get to it, but it was like swimming through mud.

  They tackled her again, all three people holding her down. As the needle found another vein, her screams fell into a whimpered prayer.

  “When the swelling on her face goes down, she’ll be pretty,” someone said.

  “Yeah, we can put her into service right away. Keep her high and she’ll do whatever we want.”

  No, she thought, but the words wouldn’t come out. I won’t … never … But even as she tried to protest, she knew she’d done worse things for drugs.

  The baby’s panicked cry rose hoarse and tinny through the building.

  I tried to save you, she wanted to say.

  But her mouth was dry, and a bittersweet numbness warmed her. She felt her arms and legs going limp, her eyes falling closed.

  Don’t hurt her… Grace didn’t do anything… suffering for my mistakes.

  But wasn’t that always the way it went? She’d known dozens of mothers who’d sacrificed their children to the altar of drugs.

  She was one of those children.

  As the drug pulled her under, she hated her mother … her brother … her captors … herself.

  God was the only One who could save her now. But she didn’t even know if she was still on His radar.

  Chapter 57

  Kent was surprised when Dathan told him the Chief was alerting the SWAT team. He hadn’t expected the Jefferson City police department to have one. Even then, he expected a ragged crew of patrol officers who doubled as sharp-shooters on the rare occasions that required the big guns. He was impressed with how quickly they gathered, though, and hoped they were well trained.

  He and Dathan met the squad a couple of miles from their destination. The men were assembled in a van, with assault rifles and bulletproof vests. Kent pulled one on, then hurried back into Dathan’s car.

  They drove to the scene with lights and sirens off to keep from alerting the perps. He tried to switch his brain into detective mode, focusing only on the choreography of getting inside the headquarters, disarming and restraining the bad guys, and rescuing the victims. He forced his affection for Lance out of his mind. Letting emotion get tangled with crime scene strategy could cause lethal mistakes.

  They paused a few hundred yards from a building that looked like an old airport hangar, maybe for a corporate charter service that had shut down long ago. Kent used binoculars to scope out the hangar. The doors were all closed and there were no cars in sight. On the side of the building were a fuel tank and a long runway.

  “If that tank is full, it could be a problem if we start firing,” he said to Dathan. “Tell the SWAT team to shoot clear of it.”

  As Dathan radioed the men in the van and the other cruisers serving as back-up, Kent got out of the car and walked a few feet to get a better look at the other side of the building. If these men could afford a jet and forty thousand dollars to pay Jordan’s family, they could afford a team of hotshot lawyers. That meant they’d probably come without a fight, knowing they could bond out and fight any charges against them.

  A Piper Jet sat on the airstrip, poised to take off. Exhaust heat rippled in the air. Through the plane’s windows, Kent saw a pilot and the silhouettes of passengers. The plane looked ready for take-off. Then he saw the beacon light on the tail flash on.

  He ran back to the car. “Plane about to take off!” he said. “Let’s go now!”

  Dathan relayed the message into the radio, then yelled, “Let’s go! Let’s go! Move in around the plane!”

  Blue lights flashing, the cars sped to the airstrip as the plane began to taxi down the runway. Kent drew his weapon and steadied it on the dashboard as Dathan pulled onto the grass beside the plane. The pilot saw them, but kept taxiing, picking up speed. The sirens came on, warning them to stop, but the plane went faster, faster … ready to take off. Dathan kept up with them, going forty, fifty, sixty miles an hour …

  “Shoot out the wheels!” Dathan yelled as he drove. “I can’t get in front of them.”

  Kent took aim, getting the wheels in his sights, and he squeezed off a round. One of the small tires blew, tipping the plane slightly, pulling it to the right. He fired again, targeting the other tire. The plane skidded and slowed. Its take-off was aborted, but the plane kept its trajectory down the runway.

  “Hang on!” Dathan tore around the plane and screeched to a stop in front of it as the other cars moved in, blocking the plane in every direction. The piper rolled to a halt. The pilot’s door flew open, and he saw the barrel of a rifle as the pilot fired. Kent fired back, aiming low to knock the shooter out, but a bullet shattered Dathan’s windshield. Kent got out of the car and ducked behind it.

  Someone on the passenger side of the plane began shooting now, bullets flying from both sides. Kent fired back, praying he wouldn’t hit Lance or Jordan or the baby if they were in the plane.

  The pilot fell back inside the plane, pulling the door shut.

  Kent turned his fire to the other sho
oter, hoping to take at least one of them alive. He fired toward the leg of what appeared to be a woman.

  But other cops surrounded the place, SWAT team snipers positioning themselves around the plane.

  “Stand down!” Kent cried into the radio. “Victims may be in the plane! Hold your fire!”

  Before Dathan’s firing stopped, the woman was hit. She tumbled back, hit the wing, and slid off onto the tarmac.

  The firing stopped. Kent braced his gun in both hands and made a run for the plane, hoping to get underneath it before the pilot rallied. If there were only the two of them, maybe he could climb in, take the pilot, and find Lance and Jordan. But where was Zeke? And what if there were others?

  A shot from the cockpit burst through the plane’s windshield, the bullet ricocheting off the concrete next to Kent just before he reached the plane. Fire ripped through his shoulder. He fell back, lightning flashing in his brain as his head hit the ground.

  Chapter 58

  Gunfire shook Jordan out of her stupor. She forced her eyes open. She was in the plane, lying on the backseat. The world swirled, a tornado of confusion spinning around her head. What had they given her?

  Bits of glass showered her as the guns kept firing. Were they shooting at her? She tried to get up, but her head was as heavy as lead and felt as big as a watermelon. She pushed her knees under her, tried to push up with her hands.

  “What you shoot for? You crazy, man? They kill us!” a man’s voice said in the cockpit.

  “We can’t let them take us.” Nelson’s voice was raspy, and he was breathing hard, as if in pain. “There are two bodies inside. They catch us, we’re going down for murder. We’ve got to get this plane off the ground.”

  Jordan lifted her head and squinted toward the front of the plane. The man with the accent squatted behind the front seats, firing out between the seat and the door. Nelson crouched on the floor, blood soaking his shirt.

  She looked around for an escape. Behind the backseat was a cargo area. If she got back there, maybe she would be safe.

  Then her baby started to cry, its tinny, angry voice rising. Jordan followed the sound and found Grace strapped in a car seat on the seat in front of her.

  Bullets shattered the glass beside Jordan, and she screamed. Grace would get caught in the crossfire. She started toward Grace just as a bullet whizzed past her head.

  She hit the floor, keeping her head low. She could slide back under the seat to the cargo bin, but she couldn’t leave Grace here, vulnerable to the spray of bullets.

  Jesus, I need You …

  She crawled to the baby’s seat, aware that the foreign man was just two feet away. But he ignored her and kept firing through the shattered window. Her hands trembled as she fumbled with the straps. Finally they came free and she grabbed her baby up.

  The child kicked and squirmed and yelled, her little mouth open in a desperate O.

  Holding the baby tight against her chest, Jordan got down on the floor and, lying sideways to shield Grace with her body, pushed herself along until she was in the cargo space. She slid to the back of it, shielding her baby as bullets flew through the fuselage.

  Chapter 59

  Kent regained consciousness, unsure whether he’d been out for seconds … or much longer. He made himself roll under the plane, out of the line of fire. His right shoulder was numb, and he couldn’t use his right arm. He grasped his gun with his left hand and tried to get to his feet.

  “The fuel tank!” he heard someone say above him, inside the plane. “By the hangar! Hit the fuel tank!”

  There was more gunfire, more yelling—and then the fuel tank a hundred yards away went up in a blast that knocked him back to the ground. Black smoke mushroomed over him … he heard the sound of a crash … felt himself rolling as metal smashed and tumbled around him.

  Jordan felt the blast, and the plane bounced upward, flipping over. Metal ground and broke as she felt the wing breaking, the plane rolling.

  She clutched the baby to her chest, pulled her knees up, and rolled like a lottery ball in the cargo bin. When the plane settled on its side, she examined Grace.

  The baby was still screaming, but Jordan could see no injuries.

  Jordan managed to catch her breath, her heart thudding against her chest. “Shhh,” she said. “It’s all right. Mommy’s here.”

  Smoke was filling the cabin. She had to get out of here. She put the baby under her shirt to protect her lungs from the smoke and found the small door to the cargo area. It was over her head now, and she tried to kick it open.

  She heard two more gunshots, a grunt and a thud … then men’s voices. “Two dead inside! Is there anybody in here?”

  She looked through the smoke and saw a man at the door to the plane. “Help me!” she cried. “Please help me!”

  In minutes they had gotten her out and away from the flames and smoke, to fresh air. “Lance,” she cried. “He’s in the building. I think they killed him.”

  She sat on the grass, comforting her child, as the police turned their attention to the hangar.

  Chapter 60

  Lance …

  Kent stared at the flames engulfing a collapsed wall of the hangar, a hundred yards away. It looked like a war zone here—flames and smoke and broken pieces of cars … and the plane everywhere, its wing broken into three pieces.

  He had to find Lance.

  Dathan pounded toward him. “Kent, you all right?”

  He got to his knees, accepting Dathan’s offered hand, and staggered to his feet. “The plane … the victims …”

  “We pulled the pilot and his partner out dead and found the girl and the baby. They’re alive.”

  He sucked in a breath. “Lance … where is he?”

  “She said he’s in the hangar. She thinks he’s dead.”

  His heart balled into a fist, squeezing blood from its chambers. He squinted toward the hangar. The fuel tank blast had knocked down a wall, and flames had spread across the ceiling. Through the fire, he saw Zeke’s blue Dodge.

  Lance must be in that building with Zeke, about to be burned. If Jordan was right, he was already dead.

  He ran toward the hangar, his left hand still clutching his firearm. On the side of the building not yet engulfed, he kicked in a door and went in.

  He stumbled over a body. In the smoky light, he saw that it was Zeke. He lay dead on the floor in a pool of blood, a gun in his hand … aimed at another body.

  Lance!

  Kent stumbled toward the boy lying on the ground, a bloody gunshot wound in his left side. He knelt and turned him over. He felt for a pulse, but couldn’t find one. Awkwardly throwing Lance over his left shoulder, he ran back the way he’d come in, through the flames and smoke.

  Chapter 61

  As Kent cleared the flames, he ran to a score of sirens … fire trucks and ambulances racing toward the scene. He kept running until he was clear of the building, in case the fuel tanks of the cars inside the hangar went up next.

  When he couldn’t run another step, he collapsed on the dirt and lay Lance down. Blood from Kent’s own wound had soaked Lance’s clothes, but Lance was still unconscious. Kent ripped Lance’s shirt open. The wound was low, through his lower ribs, and there was an exit wound. Blood still seeped from both front and back. He pressed his hand over the exit wound to stop the bleeding. If blood was still flowing, there must be a pulse. He put his ear to Lance’s chest. Yes—there was a faint heartbeat, a whistle of breath. “Lance!” he said. “Hang on, buddy!”

  An ambulance crossed the field to them. Paramedics jumped out and took over. Only then did Kent collapse beside Lance.

  Don’t take him, Lord. Take me. Please let him be all right.

  Chapter 62

  Barbara sat in the surgical waiting room, Emily’s head on her shoulder, as they waited for word. They had taken Kent to Radiology to evaluate the shoulder that had been shattered by a bullet. She thanked God that he’d been wearing a bulletproof vest. But Lance …

>   They had brought him in an ambulance. She’d gotten a glimpse before they rolled him into surgery, and he was limp, his face drained of color. Pasty, like he was already dead.

  The bullet had shattered ribs and punctured a lung, filling it with blood. The doctors weren’t sure if they could save him.

  Suddenly, the doctor she’d spoken to earlier came into the waiting room, his mask around his neck. “Mrs. Covington?”

  Emily lifted her head and got to her feet. Barbara wanted to stand up, but she found she couldn’t move. She didn’t want to know if he’d died. To plan another funeral, buy another casket—she’d thought she’d never recover from burying her husband, but burying a son would be worse.

  “Is he … alive?” Emily asked.

  The doctor looked tired, but he managed a smile. “Yes. We removed the torn lobe of his lung, and his vital signs are good now. I think he’s going to be okay.”

  Relief burst like fireworks through her heart. Had she heard him right, or had she merely wished it? Was Lance really going to live? Slowly, she got to her feet.

  “Mom, it’s a miracle!” Emily threw her arms around her.

  Yes, it was true. She was going to get her son back.

  Lance woke hours later to bright, blinding lights. His vision was blurred, and his head felt like it had gotten between a sledgehammer and its stake. His side burned like he’d been blasted with a welding torch.

  “Lance, can you hear me?”

  A face hovered above him, blurred at the edges. “Mom?”

  His mother burst into tears and whispered, “Oh, thank You, God.” Her face became clearer. “Lance, how do you feel?”

  He tried to answer, but the words just rotated through his head like numbers on a slot machine. He couldn’t settle on any.

  How had he gotten out of there?

  “You were shot.” Emily’s face came into view. “You’re a hero. Half the school is in the waiting room. It’s all over the news.”