“Calm down,” she said. “Honey, it’s gonna be all right.” The East Tennessee accent she’d spent years trying to lose returned with a vengeance. “Denny won’t hurt Jeremy. He only wants the flag. Call the sheriff, and have her meet us there.”
Gage pulled out his phone and punched in 911. “I can’t get a signal. I can’t get a freakin’ signal! What kind of place is this that I can’t get a freakin’ signal?”
“You’re in the mountains, hon. God’s country, remember?” She glanced at him, then focused on slowing down and speeding up as they flew around an S curve. She rolled the window partway down and breathed in the loamy, earth-scented air, a smell that never failed to soothe her. The lights from the Jeep cut across the tree trunks, sliding from one Carolina pine to the next like high-speed laser beams. “It’ll be okay. I promise. Denny’s not gonna hurt Jeremy. All he wants is the flag. When we get to the house, I’ll give it to him. I’ll hand it over, and everything will be fine.”
“Does Sean have a gun?”
“A gun? No. I don’t think so.” She pushed her hair out her eyes. “We won’t need a gun.”
“Okay.” He took a deep breath and blew it out, slow and steady. “If anything happens to Jeremy, I’ll never forgive myself. I’ll never forgive anyone again.”
She reached out and squeezed his hand. “Gage, it’s okay. We’ll find him.”
As they neared the bottom of Blackstone Mountain, a stillness gathered around him, and she wondered if he was mentally preparing himself for what might lie ahead. She barreled down Milltown Road, then slowed before she rounded the curve to the orchard entrance.
“Cut the lights,” he said. “Then ease the Jeep into the lower yard away from the utility lamp.” When she came to a stop, he swung out of the front seat and said, “Stay here.”
“Like hell.”
“Then stay behind me. I can’t worry about you right now.”
The sweet aroma of apples, mingled with the sharp, smoky scent of a wood fire filled the air. White plumes of smoke drifted over the barn like ghosts waiting for midnight. The four floodlights on the side of the barn shone upwards, illuminating the large wooden apple quilt block over the door.
Morgan followed Gage. He skirted the side yard and crept along the shadowed fence line. When they reached the house, he put his hand out to stop her, then pointed to the massive rhododendron bush growing near the far side of the porch. A tiny slice of chrome glinted in the light. Through the thick, stobby branches, she could make out the outline of a black motorcycle.
“Is that his bike?” Gage asked.
“I'm not sure. Do you think he's inside the house?”
“I don't know.” Gage started up the side porch steps. “But I'm going to find out.”
“Wait a minute!” she whispered. “Don't you want to sneak in the back door? Wouldn't that be the smart thing to do?”
“I'm not doing the smart thing. I'm doing the fast thing. If he heard the car, he knows we're here. He's waiting for us, watching our every move. Back door, front door, it doesn't matter.”
Gage wedged his broad shoulders between the screen and the door. He placed his hand on the brass knob. “And Morgan? Just so you know. If that son of a bitch has laid so much as a finger on my son, I will kill him.”
He opened the door and walked inside.
Morgan edged into the foyer behind him. Her heart banged against her ribs.
The tiny lamp on the piano cast distorted shadows around the room. The drawers from her grandfather's roll top desk had been emptied, a chair overturned. A path of sheet music trailed across the flowered rug.
Gage stood for a moment, head down, listening, then quickly circled through the dining room to the kitchen. He crept through the laundry room, in and out of the office, down the back hall. He opened and closed doors without making a sound, moved silently across old hardwood floors that creaked if someone looked at them. For the first time, she was seeing the real Gage doing the thing he’d been trained to do, the thing he loved, the thing he did best. Watching him in stealth mode both fascinated and reassured her. It took the edge off her fear, kept the adrenaline from bouncing her off the ten-foot ceiling.
He came back and stopped at the staircase. He held his finger to his lips and pointed upstairs. Then he disappeared into the shadows with his hand poised above the light switch.
A scraping noise echoed on the second floor near her bedroom. A tremor shuddered down her spine. Her mouth went dry. Her pulse hammered in her ears, swishing and pounding like she’d fallen overboard and had to fight her way to the surface.
Soft footsteps thumped along the upstairs hall.
Morgan glanced at Gage, hoping the sight of him might quell the panic rising in her throat. His gaze focused on the top of the stairs, every muscle in his body tight and ready to spring. She reached out and curled her fingers around the hall tree. Denny was a big man, a head taller than Gage, but she had no doubt that if Denny wouldn’t listen to reason, Gage would beat the crap out of him anyway.
A man swung around the wooden banister. Morgan could tell at once it wasn't Denny. This man was wiry and agile, and was tripping down the stairs like he'd been called to breakfast.
The man crossed the center landing. When he pivoted toward them, she heard Gage suck air through his teeth. The man never looked up, and by the confident swagger in his step, it was clear he had no idea two people were waiting for him.
When the man reached the bottom step, Gage flipped on the overhead lamp, bathing the room in white light.
The man stopped in mid-step. He blinked at Gage, shook his head, then blew out a long, loud sigh and grinned. “Jesus, Gage. Whatcha trying to do? Give me a heart attack?”
“It had crossed my mind,” Gage said.
“Where you been, dude? Tyson thought you'd disappeared.” His gaze shot to Morgan and lingered, lazily traveling from her neck to her knees. “Well, damn, Gage. Now I see the reason you're still hanging around here. Can't say as I blame you.”
“You two know each other?” Morgan asked.
“Uh, oh,” the man said. “Gage has forgotten his manners.” He shoved the clear plastic box he was carrying under one arm and held out a surgically gloved hand. “Cal Leonard, ma'am.” When Morgan ignored it, he grinned again, “And she’s got principles. Hell, Gage, no wonder you didn't finish this job. I'd have ditched it too if I was gettin' some of this.”
Gage stared at Cal like a man who's come face to face with his worst nightmare, and can't grasp the fact it's real. The only thing that moved was the knot in his jaw, clenched so tight, the artery in his neck bulged.
“Gage?” Morgan said. “What's going on?”
“Cal, have you seen my son Jeremy? He’s eleven, but he’s just a little guy. I think I showed you a picture of him once when we were on stakeout. Have you seen a big, gray-haired hippie-looking dude? I think they’re together, and—”
“Yeah, I saw ’em. Out by the barn. I checked to see who was here before I ducked into the house. The kid’s okay. They’re cooking something in a big vat.”
“Thanks, man.” Gage turned to go.
“Not so fast.” Cal pulled the box out from under his arm. The faded gold stars of General Johnston's battle flag were visible through the thick plastic. Cal reached behind him and slid a handgun out of his belt. He pointed it at Morgan. “No one’s going anywhere. Not until I make it outta here with this flag.”
“Please, Cal,” Gage begged hoarsely. “My boy’s been missing for over an hour. I have to see if he’s all right. Just let me go to him.”
Cal’s eyes narrowed. “I’m a better shot than you, Gage, remember? And I say you ain’t goin’ anywhere.” He laughed and held up the box. “Women always think they can hide stuff where nobody will find it, but that just ain't the case. In old houses like this, there's always a loose floorboard or two. Usually in a bedroom underneath a rug and a rocker. You taught me well, Gage. It only took ten minutes to find the honey pot. You been here for d
ays. Why couldn’t you find it? Or maybe you didn’t want to find it.”
“That flag belongs to me,” Morgan said.
“Not according to your ex-husband's father,” Cal said. “And he's paying one hell of a finder's fee to get it back. Old Gage here could have made a killing off it if he'd kept his pants zipped up nice and tight. But keeping your pants zipped ain’t your style, is it, old buddy? Too late now. The flag is mine.” Cal laughed and shook his head. “She don't know about you, does she? She don't know why you came here.”
Gage’s leg came out of nowhere. It kicked the gun out of Cal’s hand, and sent the box flying. Before Morgan had time to blink, he had pinned Cal against the wall and was towering over the smaller man like a school bully. Morgan picked up the gun.
“Let go of me!” Cal cried. “I'm only doing my job. Your job.”
“Are you here by yourself?” Gage asked.
“Yeah,” Cal said. “I always work alone. You know that.”
Gage loosened his grip. “Then get the hell out of here. And tell Tyson I said if Denny's father wants his flag back, he'll have to get a warrant.”
“What's gotten into you, man? Has this chick already got you whipped?”
Morgan pointed the gun at Cal. “You want me to whip you, too? Because I can do it. Now, get the hell out of my house.” She kicked the box toward him. “And take the flag with you. I don't want it.”
Cal glanced at Gage and hesitated.
“Go ahead,” Morgan said. “Gage isn't going to give you any trouble. Are you Gage?”
“Morgan, please,” Gage said. “Don't do this.” He glanced at her. The guilt and humiliation in his eyes only made her angrier. “I know I should have told you. I tried to tell you. But please, don't give him the flag.”
“Shut up,” she said. “Take it, Cal. And may you never have a moment's peace with the money it brings.”
Cal scooped the box from the floor and rushed out the door.
Gage took the gun from her hand. He flipped it open and checked the chamber. “Loaded. I guess Cal gets points for that. I have to find Jeremy.” He ran out the door and bounded down the porch steps two at a time.
Morgan followed him. The wind whipped hair into her face, and she raked it out of her eyes. Fury rose in her throat like acid. “You bastard,” she cried, running alongside him. “Is that why you came here? To steal the flag from me? You only pretended to help Sean so you could weasel your way into our house.” She hurried to keep up. “Everything you told me was a lie. Everything. You're no better than your uncle. You’re no better than Denny.”
“You’re wrong, but I don’t have time to explain.” He stopped at the corner of the barn. An eerie silence surrounded them.
“I don’t hear anything,” she whispered.
He glanced at her as if he were seeing her for the first time. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m helping you find Jeremy. But only because I like the kid. You can rot in hell.”
“Fine,” he said. “But this is how it's gonna go.” He held his baritone down to a low rumble. “I’m going in alone. If I get into trouble, you hightail it back to the house and call 911.”
“You are not going in there alone.”
“Yes, I am.” He stood beside the barn door. “You stay here.”
“Not a chance.”
“I mean it, Morgan. Do not move.”
“You keep saying that like I'm going to do it. I’ve had it with you.”
He pointed the gun toward the black sky and clasped his wrist in his other hand with a practiced assurance that sent a chill through her. Whatever made her think she knew this man? Or would ever know him? He had lied to her. Betrayed her trust. And now he was standing outside her apple barn, ready to crash through the door and fire a bullet into her ex-husband.
“Open the door,” he said calmly. “And stay behind me.”
She squeezed the handle and pulled the barn door toward her as quietly as she could. When the opening was large enough, Gage stepped through.
Fluorescent lights burned brightly overhead, illuminating the dusty corners, reflecting off the apple butter equipment. Gage held the gun in both hands with his arms straight out. He turned quickly to the left and right, then upwards to the loft, his eyes darting all around. Satisfied they were alone, he pointed toward the back door. A fine film of perspiration glistened across his upper lip.
He pushed the narrow rear door leading to the yard behind the barn with his foot. A gust of wind caught the door like a sail, banging it hard against the outer wall. White wood smoke billowed past Gage into the interior of the barn. The bittersweet aroma of scorched apples rushed through Morgan’s sinuses. Outside, the enormous built-in kettle sat beneath a work lamp Sean had attached to the corner of the barn. Light sliced through the brown apple mash. Rolling bubbles exploded on the surface.
Gage stepped across the threshold. He held Cal's loaded gun in front of him like a saber. He stopped beside the kettle. “Oh, Christ,” he said. He spun around. Shock and rage spilled across his face. “Jeremy!” he called, softly at first, his voice a frightened, mournful cry. Then louder as the terror in his heart struck him full force. “Jeremy! Jeremy! Jeremy!”
Morgan waved her way through the drifts of white smoke. “Gage, what—”
“Don't come over here!” he cried. “Get back in the barn.”
But it was too late. Her gaze had already caught a movement in the copper kettle, a dark log-like cylinder gently bobbing up and down. She wiped her burning eyes and waited for the smoke to clear. Above the thick, simmering liquid, a hand attached to the buttoned cuff of a denim work shirt surfaced. It paused in midair, as if beckoning her closer, then sank into the bubbling brown mash.
Morgan swallowed a scream.
A death mask of Denny's face, red and bloated and hideous, rolled up out of the swirling liquid with its eyes wide open. Strings of waxy flesh where his eyelids should have been dripped across the bridge of his nose. A gaping gash cut across the right side of his forehead, splayed open to reveal a wedge of white skull. He bobbed for a moment like a top heavy pool toy then flipped over onto his face. His braided ponytail undulated in the boiling apples like a silver snake.
Morgan stood paralyzed. She stared at the arc of blue plaid covering Denny's back, unable to breathe. Unable to look away.
How many times had she wished Denny dead? A hundred? A thousand? But not like this. Not anything like this.
Gage grabbed her arm and jerked her away from the kettle. “Don't look at him. Look at me. Morgan!”
She forced herself to shift her gaze to Gage’s face.
“Help me find Jeremy and Sean.”
Sean. Where was Sean? A fresh rush of adrenaline shot through her veins, snapping her brain awake. “Sean!” she shouted, turning first one way then the other. “Sean!”
Maybe Jeremy and Sean were hiding somewhere together. But where? She looked around frantically then kicked at the stacks of wooden crates beside the kettle. She shoved them out of the way, lifted them up, looked beneath them. She knelt beside the wide work table her grandfather had nailed together with two-by-fours. Jeremy was small but resourceful. If Sean and Denny had fought, he might have crawled beneath the table to hide in the shadows.
“Jeremy?” she called.
No answer.
“Where are they?” Gage stood with his back to her, staring at the top of Pip’s Hill. “Do you think they’re in the woods?” Bathed in a wash of pale moonlight, the scrubby weeds growing on the hill looked exotic and beautiful as they moved in the breeze.
Morgan started for the shed.
“I already tried the shed door. It's locked.”
A low moan thrummed beneath the work table.
“Jeremy!” Gage cried.
Morgan whirled around. She dropped to her knees and ducked her head under the wooden slats. “I looked under here, but I couldn’t see anything.” Gage squatted beside her. He peered into the blackness.
“J
eremy? Son, where are you?”
“It's me,” Ethan said. He stretched out his arm. “I think I passed out.” She could barely make out his lanky form lying curled in the corner. “I can't move my leg. Denny pushed me down, and I fell over a crate.”
“Where's Jeremy?” Gage demanded. He reached into the far corner beneath the table, clasped Ethan’s hand, and pulled him out.
“I don't know where the boy is,” Ethan said. “After the fight broke out, he took off.” He looked at Morgan. “I had a bad feeling about you tonight. That’s why I’m here. I tried to call, but it kept going to voicemail. I came over to make sure you were all right. When I got here, Denny was threatening Sean.” He grimaced. “Owww, that hurts. I think he broke my foot.”
Gage lifted Ethan and set him on a crate, then paced the length of the yard. “Jeremy! Where are you, son? Everything's okay now. Jeremy! Jeremy, answer me!”
“Where's Sean?” Morgan grabbed Ethan’s open collar. “Where is my brother?”
Ethan held his foot and groaned. He pointed to the supply shed. “In there. Denny worked him over pretty good then locked the door. I think he's unconscious.”
Morgan’s heart crashed against her ribs. She ran to the shed and felt beneath the eaves until she located the extra key hanging from a nail. With shaking hands, she unlocked the door and flipped on the light. A single bulb hung from its cord like a noose. She looked around, panicked, until she spotted Sean lying on his back beside the lawnmower.
“Sean!” She ran to him and dropped to her knees. His right eye had swollen shut. Purple welts mixed with dirt and sweat covered his jaw. His lower lip laid split open and bleeding. Blood trickled down his neck. She put her hand on his chest. She knew better than to move him.
“Gage!” she shouted. “Over here! I need help.”
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