by M. C. Sutton
Sam had to smile at that one. No, the Texas governor wasn’t there. Or a single member of his cabinet. They’d made sure of that. But it did tell Sam one thing. This guy had no idea how Texas really worked.
“Sanchez, where are you from, anyway?”
“Chicago.”
“Well then, you find me a Texan.”
“What?”
“I’m done talking to you, Deputy Director. You want to ‘wheel and deal,’ as you say, then you get me someone who gives a damn.”
And with that, Sam hung up.
“What’s wrong?” he whispered to Zach.
“I found something,” said Zach, nodding toward his laptop.
Sam quickly scanned the room to look for Mac before turning his eyes to the screen. Pulled up was a floor plan of the hotel, with a little blinking light in the middle of it.
“What does that mean?” Sam asked.
“It’s an alert I set up. Someone is trying to make an outside call.”
Sam’s jaw dropped. “From where?”
“The registration room around the corner, it looks like. I take it from your expression it isn’t one of our guys.”
Sam shook his head. Damn it, Doc. I give you ten minutes, and this is what I get? “Look, Zach, I need you to find me everything you can on Dr. Emma Grant. Anything we can use as leverage.”
“Why?”
Sam lowered his voice to barely a whisper. Mac was coming their way. “Because if you don’t give me some reason to keep her around, Mac’s going to kill her.”
“What did Sanchez say?” Mac boomed.
Sam stood up straight. “He said he’d call back.”
Mac glanced at Zach’s monitor. “What does that blinking light mean?”
Sam and Zach exchanged a look.
“Come on, kid,” said Mac. “What does it mean?”
Zach swallowed. “It means someone is making a phone call from inside the hotel.”
A look of fury filled Mac’s eyes. He spun to leave.
“No!” Sam put a hand on Mac’s chest. “I will deal with this.”
Mac shot daggers at Sam, then glanced over at Jonathan Grant.
Sam followed his gaze. “Don’t even think about touching Grant until I get back, Mac. Is that clear?”
Mac curled a lip. “Crystal.”
CHAPTER 23
“Jon, can I ask you a question?” said Aaron.
Jon kept his eyes on the door, willing Emma to reappear. “Sure.”
“Was it true what Bennett said earlier?”
Jon braced himself for an uncomfortable conversation.
“Were you really an alcoholic?”
“Oh, that?” Jon turned to him and smiled in relief. “Yeah. But that was a long time ago. I haven’t touched the stuff in over twenty years.”
“Wow. It’s just, well, kind of hard to believe. You seem like such a strong person. It’s hard to imagine someone like you could struggle with something like that.”
“You’d be surprised,” said Jon, turning back to the door. “Sometimes it’s the strongest people who need the most help.”
Then the guy in the mask stepped back through the door, without Emma.
And something inside of Jon snapped.
In the few seconds it took the terrorist leader to make his way to the front of the room, Jon contemplated no less than thirty-seven different scenarios in which he took down every gun-toting guy in the place, starting with the ones on the stage. For a split second he even thought about grabbing Bennett and using him as a human shield. After all, this was an American convention. It seemed only fitting that if anyone was going to have to die, it should be the Canadian.
And the representative of the GOG no less. He could take out two birds with one stone.
Jon pushed himself up on his toes and squatted against the wall behind him, coiling his body. One of the terrorists walking around the room was about to pass by. As soon as he got close enough, Jon would leap up, grab his gun, slam an elbow into his face, maybe grab Bennett too—not really, but it was fun to think about—snipe the ones on the stage, there’d be some confusion, take out the one behind the monitors, throw his gun to Aaron—maybe he should warn Aaron, but there was no time—grab the pistol Jon knew the terrorist kept at his ankle…
The guy was only a few feet away now.
Jon took a deep breath and held it, every muscle in his body tensed.
Three…
Two…
“Jon Jacob.”
Jon turned to Jack. There was a tenderness in his voice, and a warmth in the hand he put on Jon’s shoulder that made him relax.
The terrorist passed by. Jon didn’t even notice.
“Jon Jacob, there’s something I want you to know,” said Jack.
Jon smiled at him. His Uncle Jack. The man he’d looked up to his entire life. The man who always welcomed him into his home, always saved a place for him at the dinner table. Who’d tried to teach him that, no matter how badly his father treated him, he was still worth something. When Jon was little, he wanted to be just like Jack.
Did Jack even know that?
“Your father was a good man, Jon. Now, I know typically you’d argue with me about that…”
Jack was right—he would argue. He’d say that the only thing his father had ever taught him was how to invest. And the only thing he’d ever given him was a black eye. But in that moment Jon didn’t say anything.
He just stared at Jack.
“… but we all have that one weakness. That one thing that, if we lost it, we’d have nothing left to live for. Nothing left to fight for. Ally was your father’s one thing, Jon. When your mother died, something just went wrong inside him. And what was left was no more than a shell of a man. Now, I loved your mother very much. You know that. It killed me when we lost her. But I loved your father too, and watching him die slowly inside every day, knowing how angry he would be at himself for the way he treated you… that was even worse.”
Jon frowned. He didn’t want to listen anymore. It made him mad, but more than that, it hurt. He hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t dealt with it in a long, long time. He’d heard it all before—that when his mother died, his father lost anything worth living for. But what about him? Was his own son not worth living for?
Jon tried to turn away. There was something he was supposed to be doing, something important. But he couldn’t remember what it was.
“Jon, do you remember the summer when you were six years old?” Jack took Jon’s arm. There was a deep nostalgia in his eyes. As if when he looked at Jon, he didn’t see the man, but a young boy who wanted nothing more in the world than to know that someone loved him.
“That was a long time ago, Jack.”
“Well, I remember,” said Jack. “You had this cat you toted around. It was white with black spots. I think you named her Bessy, because she reminded you of a cow. You loved that cat. You found her in the tobacco fields out behind the house. Carried her around like a baby. I remember being completely amazed that she let you tote her around like that—most cats aren’t that docile. But she didn’t seem to mind at all. You begged us to let you leave her at the house, because you knew your father would never let you bring her home.”
Jon smiled. “Yeah, I remember.”
“Do you remember what happened to her?”
Jon’s smile faded.
“We found out she was sick. I explained to you how uncomfortable she was. How much pain she was in. I told you that everything you had done for her, how you had loved her and taken care of her, was good for her. That it had helped her to not feel so bad. For a little while. But her illness was beginning to take over, and we needed to do something about it.”
It was almost forty years ago, but the way Jack talked about it made it seem like it was only yesterday. Jon could see himself then, as a six-year-old boy, in the fields out behind Jack’s house, carrying around a ball of fur as long as he was tall. The vet had already come and gone, declaring there w
as nothing more he could do. Jon remembered holding her and feeling so helpless. He did love her. This sweet little animal that had wandered into his life, that had become completely dependent on him. That had let him hold her and pet her and purred with an intensity so great it was as if she thought he was the most important person in the world.
“You know what we have to do now, Jon Jacob?” his Uncle Jack had told him, the syringe in his hand. Uncle Jack towered over him, twice his size. He knelt in front of Jon and wiped a tear from his cheek.
“Will it hurt her?” Jon asked.
“No, it’s not going to hurt her. In fact, quite the opposite. She’s in a lot of pain right now. This is going to take all that away.”
“Do you think she’ll be scared?”
“Not if you stay with her.”
Jon nodded. He didn’t want to be there. He didn’t want to have to watch her go. To lose the one thing he loved more than anything in the world. But he stayed. He could be brave for her, because he didn’t want her to be alone.
Jon held her in his lap, cradling her in his arms like a newborn. She looked up at him while Uncle Jack gave her the injection. Jon watched the light slowly fade from her eyes. And in the second just before she was gone, he could have sworn he saw a flash of gratitude.
Jon took in a sharp breath.
Jack was kneeling on the conference room floor beside him, his hands on Jon’s arms.
“Jack?” Jon’s head spun. He felt as if he’d been shoved back in time, then quickly snapped forward again.
“Jon, do you remember what happened about a week later?” Jack glanced over his shoulder. Mac and the terrorist who’d taken Emma out of the room were having a discussion beside the surveillance monitors.
“Um, I don’t know,” said Jon, putting a hand to his head. What the hell had just happened?
“We found out she belonged to a family on the other side of the fields, remember?”
Jon stared. “Yeah, that’s right. She had kittens. She’d gone out into the field to die because she knew she was sick, and she didn’t want them to get sick, too.”
“That’s right. She did it to save them. But you didn’t understand that then, did you?”
“Of course not. I was six.”
“But you understand that now, don’t you, son?”
“Jack, I…” Jon shook his head. He looked over at the terrorists. The smaller one had his hand on Mac’s chest. They both were looking at Jon and Jack.
“Listen to me, Jon. Sometimes we lose people. People we care about. Sometimes bad things happen and we don’t understand why. We can choose to be bitter and angry, like your father. We can turn our backs on the world. Or we can remember that just because we don’t understand why it happened now doesn’t mean we won’t understand it someday.”
“Jack, what are you saying?”
The smaller terrorist turned and ran for the door.
And Mac turned toward them and smiled.
“Jack, no,” said Jon, a chill washing over his body as he realized what was going on.
Nothing had happened to Emma. If it had, he would have felt it.
The reason that Emma hadn’t come back from the bathroom—the reason the terrorist leader had been hovering behind the surveillance monitors and then suddenly shot out the room—was that Emma had found her opportunity to do something. Something reckless and stupid. Something that was about to get her killed.
And now Mac was headed their way. Not for Jon, because Jon wasn’t the one who had been sitting to her left.
Jack was.
“Jack, please, don’t,” said Jon.
He wanted to pull away from Jack’s hands still on his arms, but every time he thought about it, the notion would linger for only a split second before being driven out by the comforting knowledge of how much Jack cared for him. By the reassurance that this was a man he trusted implicitly, and that it would probably be best if he just did whatever Jack said.
“Jon Jacob.” Jack put a hand on Jon’s cheek.
Jon was only faintly aware of the tear that rolled down his face. No.
“Jon, I want you to know how very proud I am of you. You are an incredible husband and father. And a better man than I could ever be. I am very glad to have known you. To have been a part of your life. But there is something I need you to do for me, Jon. I need you to have faith. I need you to trust in the things that we have taught you. I need you to trust in Emma, trust that she knows what she’s doing. And right now, Jon, I need you to trust me. You do trust me, don’t you, Jon?”
Mac was only about fifteen feet away.
“Yes, Uncle Jack. I trust you.”
And then Jon was eight years old. They were sitting on the shore at Virginia Beach. The sun was warm and the tide was calm. There was a cooling breeze.
“Jon Jacob, I need you to stay here. Can you do that for me?” said Uncle Jack.
Danny had waded out too far from the shore again, and Jack was going to have to go get him.
“Yes, Uncle Jack,” Jon answered. “I can do that.”
“This is very important, son. You have to stay in this very spot and not move. No matter what. Now, are you sure you can do that?”
Jon smiled. “Yes, sir. I will stay in this very spot and not move.”
“Everything’s going to be all right, Jon. I promise.” Uncle Jack tussled his hair, then ran toward the water.
As Jon watched Uncle Jack swim away, he pulled his knees up to his chest and shivered. The sun was starting to go down, and it made him lonely. The breeze blew cold across his back. There was something in that breeze, something in the air, that just didn’t seem right. He started to get scared. He wished that his Uncle Jack hadn’t had to leave him.
Somewhere in the distance, he heard a single gunshot.
And he began to cry.
CHAPTER 24
AS SOON AS RICHARD SCOTT found out that Victor Sanchez was heading up the situation in Dallas, he knew he couldn’t just sit back and watch.
“And where do you think you’re going?” Sarah snapped at him.
Jacob, Garrett, Alex, Daniel, and Leah were sitting around the television in the living room behind her, their eyes still glued to the news. Matt stood leaning against the back of the loveseat.
Richard shoved his old US marshal jacket into a duffel bag. “I can’t just sit here, Sarah. I’ve gotta do something. You heard what they said on the news. I can’t leave Jon’s and Emma’s lives in the hands of Sanchez.”
“Well you can’t leave me here alone with them, either!” said Sarah.
“Hey, I don’t know if anyone’s noticed,” said Matt, “but we’re not exactly toddlers anymore.”
“You’re right,” said Richard. “You’re not.” He unzipped his bag, pulled out his handgun, and handed it to Matt.
“What in the world is this for?” said Matt.
“Peace of mind.”
Matt eyed the gun warily.
“Jacob!” Richard barked.
Jacob jumped up and came over. “Yes, Grandpa?”
“I need you to call one of your dad’s pilots and get me a flight to Dallas.”
“Sir?”
“Now, Jacob.”
Jacob and Matt exchanged glances. Matt handed the gun to Jacob. Jacob slipped it into the back of his pants and pulled his shirt down over it. “Yes, sir,” he said, and headed toward the phone in the kitchen.
“Let me come with you, Grandpa,” said Matt.
“Absolutely not. Your mother would kill me.”
“Please. They’re my parents.”
“Yes. And they’re my kids.”
Matt shook his head.
“Look, bud, I know you’re frustrated. But I need you to trust me right now.”
“That’s exactly what Professor March said just before he took off and left us, too.”
“Yeah, well there’s a difference between me and Professor March.” Richard pulled Matt close and hugged him. “He’s not your grandpa.”
<
br /> Matt sighed and pulled away. “I just don’t understand, Grandpa. I don’t understand what’s going on, and I don’t understand why no one can tell me.”
“How old are you now, Mattie?”
“Eighteen.”
“Good. Then we’ll tell you when you’re nineteen.”
Jacob returned from the kitchen. “All right, Grandpa. Bill says he can be ready to take off in about thirty minutes.”
Richard checked his watch. It was just after eight thirty. “Perfect. Listen, Jacob.” He put his hands on Jacob’s shoulders. “You do whatever you have to to keep ’em safe. You understand?”
Jacob looked him in the eyes and nodded. That was the great thing about Jacob. The boy would argue with you till you were blue in the face about everything from politics to social reform, but when it came to the important stuff—when it came down to a matter of trust—he always did exactly what he was told.
“All right, boys, I’ve gotta go. I love you both. Keep an eye on Sarah and your sister, okay?” He glanced at Leah, who was sitting next to Daniel on the loveseat. She had fallen asleep with her head on his shoulder. “Everything’s gonna be all right, I promise. Just you wait and see.”
He turned and headed out.
Sarah followed him onto the porch. “Richard, this is crazy!”
“I’ve never been much for sanity, Sarah,” he said as he walked to the truck.
“Richard, please. Your job was to keep the kids safe. You’re breaking protocol!”
Richard flung open the driver’s side door and chucked his bag across the seat. “Screw protocol, Sarah. I’m not going to just sit back and let them die.” He paused and took a deep breath. “Besides, if they’re gone, what good is protocol going to do us then, huh? What chance do you think any of us have without Jon and Emma?”
Sarah met his eyes, then looked away.
Richard climbed into the truck and shut the door.
“Just be careful, okay?” she said.
Richard pulled out the pistol he kept in his glove box. He handed it to Sarah through the window. “You too.”
It was a forty-five-minute drive to the municipal airport in Bentonville where Jon’s charter company housed their planes. As Richard passed by the Walmart home office, he pulled out his phone. His clout would at least get him on the scene, but technically he was retired and no longer had any kind of authority. If he was going to do this, he was going to need some help.