by Debra Webb
Simon waited, his dire expression confirming Victoria’s worst fears.
“Kevin Randolph’s sister has been taken hostage,” Simon explained, “for reasons that are still unclear. Merri and her client are at the Stover home along with the local police. Ian has already headed there. I wanted to inform you in person before I join him.”
Victoria shook her head. “Good Lord, on Christmas, of all days. Doesn’t this woman have small children?”
“Yes,” Simon confirmed. “The local authorities won’t allow any communication with Merri at this time. I’m certain when Ian arrives that will change. At this point, we can only assume that this is yet another attempt to gain access to this evidence that appears to be tied to Randolph’s murder.”
“Perhaps I should go,” Victoria offered.
Simon shook his head. “There’s no need for your involvement on that level as yet. Ian and I will handle the situation. I’ll keep you informed.”
“Very well. I’ll expect to hear from you soon.”
“Absolutely.”
Jim showed Simon to the door.
Lucas put his arm around Victoria’s shoulders. “Don’t worry, my dear. Merri knows what she’s doing. She’ll have a plan in place. With Ian’s and Simon’s help, she can’t possibly go wrong.”
“If something happens to her or this missing woman,” Victoria said, “the responsibility will be mine. It was my decision to move Merri forward into the field. No one else’s.”
“First of all,” Lucas reminded her, “we both know that isn’t true. Simon and numerous others, including myself, were on that same bandwagon. Secondly, I’ve never known you to read a potential investigator wrong. Merri’s got what it takes. You made the right decision.”
Victoria searched her loving husband’s eyes for the confidence and determination she needed. But the truth was simple and all too straightforward.
“She’s deaf, Lucas. If she goes after those men alone, she might not survive.”
“Ian and Simon will never allow her to go off half-cocked like that.”
“Unless she’s pulled the trigger already,” Victoria countered.
Merri wasn’t one to waste time. If she believed the situation merited going in, she would go in.
With or without backup.
Chapter Thirteen
Chicago, 10:40 a.m.
“We have the woman.”
The idea aggrieved Clive. He hated involving civilians like this. But Kick Randolph had left him no choice.
“Does the husband understand what’s at stake?” Clear instructions had been given to his men; one foul-up could ruin everything.
“Yes, sir,” his henchman guaranteed. “We told the husband that if he said a word beyond the script we had given him that his wife would die and his little boy would be next.”
“Excellent.” That would be sufficient motivation for the lowly schoolteacher to do the right thing. He wouldn’t want to raise his two children alone or to risk losing one of them.
“We’re waiting now for Thomas to follow through with his end.”
Clive wondered how the fool intended to get past the police. But then, that wasn’t his worry. Brandon Thomas would have to find a way unless he wanted to be responsible for Bethany Stover’s death. He sure as hell wouldn’t be welcomed into the Randolph home then.
Idiots. All of them. Kevin Randolph should have stayed out of this.
It was annoying enough that Randolph had had to be killed. This additional effort was beyond ridiculous.
“Do what you have to do,” Clive instructed. “I don’t want any loose ends left on this.”
“I understand, sir.”
Clive pressed the End Call button. In the future, he would ensure that loyalty was not an issue.
In this day, a man should be grateful for his job. That lesson needed to be driven home.
Clive had better things to do than to worry about whether his people were toeing the line. Perhaps the whole crew needed a humbling experience.
One that would remind them of what they had to lose. Of who was the boss.
Perhaps one dead reporter wasn’t lesson enough.
Chapter Fourteen
Blue Island, Stover Home, 10:45 a.m.
“How many times do we have to go over this?” Brandon asked, disgusted with the cops.
The encounter had turned into a fiasco. Thank God the children weren’t here to witness it. Larry’s parents had come for them when this all began. The Randolphs were too distraught to be of any assistance under the circumstances.
The two men who had brought him and Merri to Bethany’s house were posted outside. The chief had asked the same questions over and over.
Brandon had already passed off the storage device to Merri. He’d been right to do so. The chief had searched him the instant he’d set foot in the house. His search of Merri had been cursory at best. Wherever she’d hidden the jump drive, the chief hadn’t found it. Until Brandon understood how he could help Bethany, he didn’t want the evidence passed off to the police.
The front door opened and one of the officers stuck his head inside. “Chief, you’ve got a call I think you’re going to want to take out here.”
The chief grumbled but didn’t argue. “I’ll be right back.” He glared at Brandon. “Don’t either of you move.”
When the chief was out the door, Larry rushed over to where Brandon stood. “I don’t know what’s going on,” he whispered fiercely, “but they gave me this.” He thrust a cell phone at Brandon. “As soon as you can get away, you’re to call the one number programmed into this phone. They’ll take whatever it is that you have in exchange for my Bethy.” The misery in the man’s eyes tore at Brandon’s insides. “I don’t care what you have to do, but get her back. Do you hear me?”
Brandon took the phone and nodded. “We know what they want.”
Larry stepped back as the chief reentered the house.
“Any word, Chief?” Larry asked.
While the chief was distracted by Larry’s question, Brandon passed the phone to Merri just in case the chief decided to search him again.
“All right.” The chief turned back to Brandon. “Let’s go over this one more time.”
Brandon wanted to shake the man. “Chief, you don’t understand—”
“I’m sorry,” Merri cut in, “but I have to go to the bathroom.”
The chief held up his hands. “No way is anyone leaving this room until I know what the hell is going on.”
Merri bit her bottom lip and made a pained face. “I really, really have to go.”
“This isn’t about her,” Brandon interjected, “it’s me they want.”
The chief relaxed marginally. “We’re finally getting somewhere.” He glared at Merri. “Go. But you come right back here.”
She nodded and rushed from the room.
Brandon watched her go. He had a bad feeling.
“Start at the beginning,” the chief barked. “This time, don’t leave anything out.”
MERRI WATCHED from the hall. She waited until she was certain the men were fully involved in the conversation and then slipped into the kitchen. A laptop sat on a section of the kitchen counter obviously designated the mail and/or bill-paying station. The computer was up and running, the screen saver flashing one photo after the other of the Stover children. She pressed the Mute button and went onto the Internet server. She quickly inserted the storage device and downloaded a copy onto the desktop. When she’d finished, she sent an e-mail to Simon Ruhl’s Colby Agency e-mail address with the downloaded item attached.
She stuffed the storage device into the pocket of her baggy, borrowed jeans and did the only thing she could. She sneaked out the back door and lunged across the yard in a full run. When she’d reached the back of the church where Brandon had taken her, she paused long enough to send a text message to the number programmed into the cell phone.
Ready for pickup. Hurry!
She included the location of the church. Thank
fully the backdoor was no longer locked, allowing her to slip into the kitchen unnoticed by those gathered in the sanctuary for mass. She did what she knew she had to do, then she returned to the parking lot.
Undoubtedly someone had been watching the Stover home since a sedan pulled into the already crowded lot scarcely three minutes later. Christmas mass was still ongoing, but thankfully there were no parishioners in the lot. Merri strode straight to the passenger side and got in.
“Where’s Thomas?” the man behind the wheel demanded.
“He’s a little tied up right now,” Merri explained. “I’ll be taking care of this part for him.”
“You got the evidence?”
“I do.”
The driver wasn’t pleased, but he didn’t argue. He pointed the car toward the street and gave it the gas.
He glanced at Merri. “I hope you know what you’re getting into.”
She did.
She was about to trade herself for Bethany Stover.
“WHERE IS your friend?” the chief demanded. He walked to the hall and shouted Merri’s name toward the bathroom door.
Brandon didn’t wait for a response. He hurried around the chief and banged on the door. “Merri!”
Then he stopped himself. She couldn’t hear him banging or calling. He twisted the knob and pushed the door inward.
The bathroom was empty.
They searched the house, the chief blubbering threats every step of the way.
Merri was gone.
In the living room once more, Brandon and Larry exchanged a look. Merri had the phone and the evidence. She had gone to do what neither of them could.
And it would likely get her killed.
Fear twisted into knots of agony in Brandon’s gut.
The front door opened again.
This time the officer was accompanied by another man, this one in a dark suit and trench coat that Brandon recognized all too well.
“My name is Ian Michaels.” He flashed his identification for the chief as he surveyed the room, then turned to Brandon. “Where is Merri?”
Chapter Fifteen
Blue Island Pie Factory, 12:05 p.m.
Merri raised her head up. A groan escaped her lips. She couldn’t hear it, but she remembered what it sounded like. What it felt like, vibrating across her lips.
“…for yourself.”
She blinked, tried to focus on the guy’s lips. “What?” She’d missed part of what the bastard said.
“Just tell us where the evidence is and we’ll release both you and the Stover woman.”
Merri shook her head. Pain radiated through her skull. She’d been punched. Her hair had been pulled and her head banged against the wall a couple of times. All while poor Bethany Stover watched.
“Let her go,” Merri repeated, “and I’ll tell you where I hid the evidence.” She cringed when her swollen lip burned with the movement of her lips.
She’d hidden the jump drive at the church. They would never in a million years find it. Not that it mattered. As soon as Simon saw the video, these bastards were finished, as was their boss.
The factory they’d brought her to had been closed for years. With the car hidden behind the old loading dock, she doubted anyone searching for her and Bethany would have any luck.
Not a good thing since Merri was reasonably sure that releasing Bethany had never been on the agenda.
The assault started once more. The fiercer the tactics, the louder Bethany wailed as if she were the one absorbing the blows.
Merri’s vision dimmed. She was close to passing out. She couldn’t let that happen or they both would end up dead. She had to make a move. She’d endured as much for as long as possible in order to buy time.
“Okay, okay,” Merri said, halting the next blow, “I’ll show you where I hid it.” She peered through swollen lids at the woman on the other side of the room. “But we all go together.”
She held her breath while the man considered her proposal. Her heart wouldn’t let her breathe again until he’d nodded and said, “Let’s go.”
Merri and Bethany were shoved into the backseat. Merri had approximately a dozen seconds to whisper to the woman next to her, “First chance you get, run like hell. Don’t look back.”
The man who appeared to be in charge slid behind the wheel while his cohort sat in the front passenger seat, carefully keeping his weapon trained on Bethany.
There were few options, so Merri went with the flow.
“At the church near the Stover home,” she told the driver. “I hid it there after I escaped from the house.”
The driver’s eyes narrowed at her via the rearview mirror. He threw her a glance over the seat. “You better not be lying if you want to stay alive.”
“You’ll see,” she said as he turned back to the wheel.
And he would. He would see lots of things. One more important than all the others: Merri Walters wasn’t going down without a fight.
AT THE CHURCH, she instructed him to pull around back. When she’d gone inside and hidden the jump drive, the backdoor had been unlocked. She hoped like hell it still was. Mass had been over for a while and folks had gone home to enjoy the holiday with their loved ones.
The driver got out of the car and came around to her door. He opened it, and she staggered to her feet. Her entire body ached, felt like a punching bag. With good reason—it had been a punching bag.
She led the way through the back door. The church was empty as she hoped. Thankfully no one had hung around after the Christmas service. The last thing she wanted was more innocent victims involved in this.
In the kitchen, she nodded to the coffeemaker. “It’s in a sandwich Baggie where the coffee filter goes.”
Still suspicious but ever hopeful, the gunman snatched the filter basket from the machine and grabbed the plastic bag from inside. A smile spread across his lips when he saw that it was a computer storage device capable of holding the evidentiary video.
While he removed the jump drive from the bag, Merri made her move. She seized the carafe from the warming plate and slammed it against the side of his head with all her strength before he could block her move.
She kicked him hard in the shin. The weapon in his hand fell to the floor and slid across the well-worn vinyl. Blood running down his face, he grabbed for her when she made a run for it. She barely escaped the clutch of his cruel fingers.
Another weapon! She needed another weapon. First she had to run. As soon as he had gotten the gun palmed once more, he would be after her.
She darted into the sanctuary and dove between two rows of benches. Wood splintered in the back of the bench behind her.
She blinked, understood that it was a bullet hole. He had his gun. Was after her. If she was lucky, the other guy would hear the gunshots and come inside to see what was going on. Maybe Bethany would have a chance to run.
Merri rolled beneath the bench he’d fired at, then she kept rolling, moving toward the front door by way of the floor beneath the rows of pews.
More of those splintered holes appeared in the backs of the pews. Merri kept going, couldn’t let herself be distracted. By the time she reached the final pew, the front door burst open.
The trouser legs and shoes weren’t familiar to her. Not Brandon or the police—the other bad guy.
Run, Bethany, she urged with all her mental might.
Run!
“YOU’RE CERTAIN that besides the motel, this is the only place you took her?” Ian Michaels asked again.
He was as bad as the chief. “Yes,” Brandon repeated.
Wait. He frowned. That wasn’t entirely true. They’d spent the night in that old driveway by the abandoned house. Simon’s car was still hidden there.
Would she go there?
They were almost at the church. Might as well check there first. It was well within walking distance of Bethany’s home.
As if the thought had somehow summoned her, Bethany ran into the street screaming at the top o
f her lungs.
The car skidded to a stop, barely a foot from where she stood in shock.
The chief, Michaels, Ruhl and Brandon bailed out.
“Bethany.” Brandon was the first to reach her. “Where’s Merri?”
“She’s—”
Before she could finish her statement shots rang out from the church.
Brandon lunged in that direction. He didn’t care that he didn’t have a weapon, much less a plan.
He only cared that Merri was in there and shots were being fired.
A bullet hit the door just as he reached it. He dropped on all fours onto the stoop.
With his peripheral vision, he could see that Ruhl and Michaels had fanned out around the building. The chief appeared to be calling for backup.
When the silence dragged on, Brandon reached up and grabbed the door handle. He hoisted himself up and flung the doors open.
One man was on the floor, down for the count.
The other sat astride Merri’s waist, her back pinned to the floor. His weapon was bored into her forehead.
“Now you die!” the bastard roared.
“What she gave you was a fake,” Brandon shouted.
The man suddenly looked up at him, the weapon still drilling a hole between Merri’s eyes. “You’re a little too late,” he mused.
“Do you want the evidence or not?”
Brandon reached into his pocket. The man’s preoccupation with whether Brandon would draw a weapon from his pocket was just the distraction Merri needed. She propelled the heel of her hand into the lower part of the gunman’s chin. His head snapped back. The weapon fired, hitting the floor right next to her head.
Brandon rushed forward, kicked the guy in the skull.
The gunman tumbled off Merri.
She rolled away and grabbed a weapon lying a few feet away. Apparently, it was the other man’s gun.
When she’d gotten to her feet, gun held expertly in her hands, she snarled, “Merry Christmas!” She kicked the gunman in the head again before he could get up.
The chief, Michaels and Ruhl rushed into the sanctuary.