The Minister's Maid

by Jamie DeBree

  * * *

  The cabin was larger than Betsy had envisioned, more like a ranch home built out of logs. Looking for other vehicles, she turned onto the gravel road and found a place to park behind some tall bushes near the end of the drive.

  "I don't see any other cars near the house," she said as she turned off the engine. Glancing over at Ian, she noted how stiffly he held himself in the seat. "You must be in a lot of pain. We should have found some painkillers before we left the ranch."

  He shook his head, checking his gun before he pushed the car door open. "Thanks, but I don't need a foggy brain for this. A little pain sharpens the senses, right?" He grinned, that know-it-all smirk he'd developed as a kid. It showed his bad-boy side, and Betsy had always been a sucker for that.

  "Fine," she said, getting out of the car and checking her own weapon. "How do you want to do this, Rambo?"

  He peered around the bushes, his expression serious. "He's expecting his guard, if he's in there, but I'm pretty certain he won't shoot you. Are you up for the straightforward approach? You can knock on the front door, and I'll head around the back. If you can keep him busy, I can flank him."

  Betsy nodded. "What if he has my daughter?"

  Ian turned, running his fingers down one side of her face. "Do what you have to do to keep her safe. I'll jump in as soon as I can."

  She swallowed around the sudden lump in her throat. "Okay. And Ian?"

  "Yeah."

  "Be careful." She reached for him, pressing her lips to his in a quick kiss. Then she looked into his eyes for a long moment, and started walking toward the house.

  When she reached the porch, she knocked on the front door. Gun aimed at the solid wood, she waited, her pulse racing when the knob finally turned.

  The door swung open slowly, and she frowned when no one appeared behind it. Then finally, a small face peered out around the edge, much lower than she'd expected to see a face.

  "Who are you?" she asked, frantically trying to come up with a way of getting the child out before Derek knew she was gone. Did he really think he could just kidnap any kid and pass her off as theirs? Or had he really grabbed the wrong one? Either way, she'd make sure he went back to prison - this time for good.

  The little girl didn't answer. She just stared at the gun in Betsy's hands, frozen in place.

  "Are you alone? You can just nod your head, sweetheart - yes or no." She waited for what felt like hours before the child finally nodded yes. Then the small eyes both glanced behind the door, and Betsy tightened her grip. She held one finger to her lips and started moving toward the door, slowly, staying low.

  "Betsy? I saw you walking across the yard. You've kept us waiting long enough, don't you think?"

  Derek sounded jovial, like he had early in their relationship when he'd downed a bottle of Jack. She hadn't planned on him being drunk. That made him far less predictable, and far more dangerous.

  "How about a trade, Derek?" She stood up, letting the gun hang limp from her right hand as she stretched her arms wide in surrender. "You let her go, you get me. Simple and easy."

  He laughed, the sound chilling her to her core. "You wish, sweetheart. I saw your preacher-man go around back. Think I heard one of my boys take care of him a few seconds ago, so you're on your own. If you don't want to see these little brains splattered across the floor, you'd better drop that gun on the porch and get your sweet ass in here - now."

  Chapter 12

  Unable to see anything but the girl, Betsy knew she had no choice but to give in to Derek's demand. Slowly she lowered the gun to the porch and kicked it toward the steps. His voice had come from behind the door, and she deliberately stepped over the threshold in a way that put her between him and the girl. As expected, he stood waiting, a look of triumph in his eyes as he pushed the door shut and reached around her to flip the deadbolt into place.

  "Now," he said, motioning for her to move farther into the room. "Why don't we sit down and have a chat. I wasn't expecting you so soon, but I presume the guard I left with the preacher is dead."

  Holding a hand out to the little girl, Betsy clasped the small fingers and led her to the couch, sitting down and patting the space between her and the plush sofa arm.

  "He's dead," Betsy confirmed as Derek took the chair opposite them. "Where's my daughter?" She knew she needed to stay calm, and tried to focus on her breathing. She couldn't do anything to put the girl in danger. There was a kitchen behind them, and a hallway just beside that she assumed led to the back of the house. A small spiral staircase rose up in the corner behind Derek - access to a loft, perhaps?

  "Our daughter is...unable to join us at the moment," Derek said. "She'll be along shortly though, don't you worry. In the meantime, we have some business to discuss."

  "You've got a captive audience now. What do you want from me, Derek?" She wished he'd just come out and tell her, once and for all, so they could all get on with their lives. "If it's money you want, you could have taken the gold at the ranch. And you'll never have me or Ainsley - not while there's a breath left in my body."

  He smiled. "Ah, but you're here now, so I do have you now don't I?"

  Betsy shook her head. "You don't even know what you want, do you? Do you even have an end game here? What's it all for, Derek? What the hell do you want?"

  Restless movement at her side caught Betsy's attention, and she glanced at the girl, lowering her voice.

  "And who's this? Why is she here?"

  Derek crooked a finger at the girl, and before Betsy could stop her, she vaulted off the couch and ran to him. He hoisted her on his lap where she laid her head on his shoulder.

  "This is Mary. You remember Rico?"

  Betsy nodded. Derek's right hand man for years before she'd even come into the picture, Rico had been a calming influence on Derek, though no one really knew why. He was brusque, bad-tempered and was constantly hitting on any female within spitting distance, including Betsy. His death had hit Derek hard.

  "Mary is Rico's kid. Her momma asked me to take care of her for awhile. I told her we'd be happy to. Figured our Ainsley would appreciate having someone to play with."

  "This isn't..."

  Derek held a hand up, then put Mary on the floor. "Why don't you go play in your room for a bit, okay? I'll come get you when we're done talking." After a tentative look at Betsy, she ran off, and Derek paced the center of the room.

  "You know what I want," he said, stopping in front of her. "I want what we had - what we should have had. I want my wife, and my daughter, and for all of us to be together. Happily ever after, and all that crap. And that's what I'm going to get, dammit. That's what I deserve."

  Betsy stood up, meeting his gaze straight on. "Happily ever after for who, Derek. For you? Because there wasn't anything happy about us when you went to jail. There's nothing happy about your husband almost killing you. There's nothing happy about spending all that time in the hospital, wondering if the jury's going to let your husband go free so he can finish the job. My happily ever after started the day they put you behind bars, and I'll be damned if I'm going to give it up now."

  * * *

  Ian tugged at the ropes one last time, making sure the goon who'd nearly shot him wasn't going anywhere. He hoped Derek had heard the shot, and assumed he was dead. His only chance at getting Betsy out of there alive was the element of surprise. Ian tucked the other man's gun in the back of his waistband just in case, and then stepped carefully up the back stairs and let himself into the cabin.

  Careful not to let the back door slam behind him and staying low, he moved into the hall, thankful for the thin rug that muffled his steps on the hardwood floor. Finally reaching the corner, he crouched and peered into the living room, heart pounding in his chest as he watched Betsy tell her ex that she didn't want his happily ever after. Derek's grip tightened on the gun in his hand, his finger moving to the trigger, and when he started to raise his arm, Ian didn't hesitate.

  "Hold it right there," he said,
his own gun pointed at Derek's chest as he walked into the room. "I'd suggest you drop that weapon before I make sure you can't ever pick one up again."

  Derek laughed, an evil sound that crawled up Ian's spine and threatened to make him shake.

  "You don't want to do this, preacher. Someone's gonna get hurt bad, and it ain't gonna be me." Before Ian could guess his intentions, Derek reached out and grabbed Betsy's wrist, pulling her hard so she stumbled against him. Pinned against his chest, Betsy struggled to breathe as he squeezed a thick forearm against her throat.

  The gun rested across Betsy's middle, Derek's finger still on the trigger as he fought to subdue the wiggling woman in his grasp. Ian hesitated for a second, though it seemed like an eternity. Betsy's lips were moving, mouthing the words he needed to hear in order to proceed.

  Do it.

  He raised the gun and pulled the trigger in one smooth motion, his arm never wavering as the shock traveled up to his shoulder and back and the sound echoed in the room. Derek's eyes widened briefly before a perfect round red dot appeared on his forehead, and then he was falling backwards, taking Betsy down with him. They landed on the floor with a thud and Ian ran over, pulling Betsy up off the floor and into his embrace.

  She clung to him, burying her face in his chest as he held her and watched the blood pool underneath Derek's head.

  "Are you okay?" he asked, gently running his hands over her arms and back. She nodded, swiping at the tears on her face and then glancing over her shoulder at the body on the floor.

  "I can't believe you shot him." She stepped back, then her eyes widened before she turned to look toward the staircase. "The little girl - I have to find her. And Ainsley..."

  "Go find them. I'll call the police." Ian pulled out the cell phone and dialed 9-1-1, hoping the nightmare was finally over.

  * * *

  Betsy ran toward the stairs and started up, relieved to see Mary waiting at the top. Tears streamed down the little girl's face as Betsy scooped her up and hugged her tight.

  "It's okay, sweetheart. Everything's going to be fine." She pulled her head back so she could look at Mary's face. "Do you know where Ainsley is? Is she here?"

  Mary hesitated, then pointed over Betsy's shoulder. Turning, Betsy saw a partially open door on the other side of the cabin. She ran to it, only vaguely aware of Mary's cries growing louder. Setting the girl down in the hall, she nudged the door open with one foot and hoped no one else was in the room. A small figure lying in the center of a bed caught her eye and she dared to hope as she crossed the room in three strides. Relief turned to horror when she saw the bright red stain spreading under the girl, and the blood seeping too fast from a hole in the center of her little chest.

  "No no no no no!" Betsy grabbed a blanket from the end of the bed and pressed it to Ainsley's wound, even though she knew it was far too late. Feeling for a pulse, she didn't turn when heavy footsteps approached and strong hands closed over her upper arms, pulling her away.

  Sirens grew louder as Ian wrestled her away, his arms reaching out to wrap her little girl in the blanket and scoop her off the bed. Numb, she followed, picking Mary up again as they hurried downstairs and out to the front porch. Laying Ainsley on the hardwood planks he pressed the blanket into her chest with both hands, his lips moving silently as they waited for the ambulance.

  It was no use, Betsy knew. She hugged Mary as an ambulance, two sheriff's cars and a work truck with a firefighter insignia on it all pulled up to the house. Paramedics ran out, brushing Ian aside to tend Ainsley, but it wasn't long before she saw one of them check his watch after the other shook her head.

  Deputies guided her off the porch, one of them taking Mary from her. Everything was blurry, moving in slow motion as a white sheet was laid over Ainsley's body. She looked around, trying to find Ian, but he seemed to have disappeared. Voices kept asking her what happened, if she was okay, what her name was, but she couldn't seem to find the words. Someone wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. A bottle of water was pressed into her hand. She followed directions, ducking her head when an officer guided her into the back seat of his cruiser.

  At the station, she followed obediently to a bright room and took the offered seat at a cold metal table. Two suits came in and sat across from her, exchanging a certain look before one of them spoke.

  "Ma'am, we're very sorry and I know it's hard, but we really need you to tell us what happened in that cabin."

  Betsy shook her head, tears seeping out onto her cheeks at the truth. She'd told Ian to shoot. It had been her words that killed Ainsley.

  "We shot my daughter," she said, her chest squeezing tight as she spoke the words.

  The interrogator looked up, eyebrows raised. "The girl..." he glanced down at the papers in front of him, then back up at her. “Ainsley Watters was your daughter?"

  Betsy nodded, flicking helplessly at a tear. "Biologically speaking. The Watters adopted her as a baby. I...it was the only way to protect her. I had to make sure she was safe, and now..." She shook her head, taking the tissue offered by the as yet silent detective. "It didn't matter. None of it mattered, in the end."

  One of the men cleared his throat, the sound of papers rustling loud in the too-small space. She looked up to find them looking at each other, a silent conversation before they turned back to her. The first man - he'd mentioned his name when they came in, but she couldn't remember it - laid his pen down on the table and leaned back in his chair.

  "Maybe you could start from the beginning, ma'am. Who were the men in the cabin, and why were you all there?"

  Betsy wiped her nose, breathing a few times to compose herself. The detectives' expressions implied they were expecting an answer, but even in her grief she knew better. She'd been here before, in another life.

  "I want my phone call. I'm not saying anything without my lawyer." Harley had better pick up the damn phone. Surely his well-paid team of lawyers would know what to do for her and Ian.

  Dark, disapproving scowls gave her a strange sense of satisfaction as the two men gathered their files and walked out the door. She relaxed in her seat, as much as she could, and prepared herself for the inevitable wait. It would be awhile before they either brought her a phone, or took her to one. Trying to block images of Ainsley out of her head, she wondered where Ian was, and what he was doing. She hadn't seen him since the cops had cuffed him back at the cabin, but she knew he'd be blaming himself too.

  Again she thought about that moment, the single point in time when she'd lost everything. Replaying it in slow motion, she saw herself giving Ian the okay. The blast as the gun went off, a sharp crack as it entered Derek's forehead, the world off kilter as Derek's muscles contracted around her.

  A second shot from somewhere close by as she and Derek hit the floor.

  The door opened and she looked up, trying to re-focus on the present. A tall, clean-cut man in an expensive gray suit and a maroon shirt walked in like he owned the place, laying a briefcase on the table.

  "Ms. Majors?" he said, waiting for her nod to continue. "I'm Bruce Swenson, your attorney. Your brother sent me." He held out a hand, his grip firm around hers when she shook it. Pulling back, he took a notepad and tape recorder out of the case and sat across from her, perching reading glasses low on his nose. Finding a pen, he rested his forearms on the table and looked at her over the lenses.

  "First things first," he said, pushing a button on the recorder. "I need you to tell me exactly what happened at the cabin, starting with when you arrived."

  Chapter 13

  Betsy shook her head. "First, I'll need to speak with Harley. They haven't given me my phone call yet. And no offense, but I don't recognize you, so I'll need a business card too." She waited patiently, holding the man's unblinking stare with as firm an expression as she could muster. Harley's lawyers were old school - they'd been around the block. This guy looked like he'd just taken the bar, and worse, he reminded her of the kind of suits Derek used to keep around for dubious effect
.

  Long fingers reached out and turned off the recorder. "Here's my card," he said, pulling one out of his jacket pocket and sliding it across the table to her. "Your brother's a little tied up right now, but if there's someone else you want to call, I can arrange for that."

  "Why?" she asked, leaning forward. "What is Harley doing? Tell him I need him, that it's important. He can't take three minutes to talk to his sister?"

  Swenson tilted his head thoughtfully. "When was the last time you spoke with Mr. Majors? There's been a lot going on at the ranch - you're telling me you haven't heard about any of it?"

  Betsy's stomach flipped over, and a new wave of nausea hit her. "I've been...a little busy myself. What happened? Is he okay?" She looked up at the large one-way mirror, then at the door. "I need to get out of here. Can you make that happen?"

  Swenson nodded. "Just tell me what happened, and we should be out of here in no time." He turned the recorder on again and leaned forward, pen poised above a yellow legal pad.

  Rubbing her face with her hands, Betsy sighed. Whoever he worked for, he was definitely a lawyer if the card he'd given her was correct, and all that mattered right now was getting out. She sat back and started talking, the whole story tumbling effortlessly from her lips. It was a surreal feeling, laying it all out like that, and she could almost believe that it had happened to someone else. When she got to the end though, she was back in that bedroom, looking down at Ainsley and her heart broke all over again.

  "I loved her," she choked out. "I only wanted to keep her safe."

  Swenson turned off the tape recorder. "That's enough for today," he said, handing her a tissue. "We'll need to talk more once you're feeling up to it, but this is a good start." He put the recorder and his notes in the briefcase, shutting the clasps with a loud snap that made Betsy twitch.