by V. B. Tenery
“Here’s the game plan when we get to the cabin. We’ll make sure Robb is there. If so, we call for backup. Sheriff’s deputies are standing by. We don’t confront Robb until the cavalry arrives. Understood?”
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Hunter said. “Do I look like a hero to you?”
“No, I just don’t want you to do anything stupid, Forrest.”
The turn off to the cabin was a white rock lane about a mile and a half from Robb’s place. The road ended at his cabin. There would probably be other cabins along the road, but they were primarily weekend get-a-ways for working stiffs. With luck, they would be empty.
Davis pulled off the road and he and Hunter stepped into darkness made more so by fifty-foot pines that hid the waning moon. He handed Hunter a voice-activated headset, then donned his own. They field-tested them and left the mics open. He hung a pair of night vision binoculars around his neck and softly closed the car door.
The crunch of rocks beneath their feet sounded like gun shots, so they split up and moved onto the grassy shoulders on each side of road. Davis wished for his field boots and prayed the weeds weren’t inhabited by rattlesnakes and copperheads.
Hot, humid air filled with a chorus of crickets surrounded him. The heat made worse by the lightweight Kevlar vests they’d added before leaving the station. Lightweight was relative at eighty-five degrees and ninety percent humidity.
Hunter’s voice sounded in his ear. “I say we call in the deputies and go home. I’m too delicate for these macho gigs.”
Davis chuckled. “Stop complaining. You need the exercise, buddy. Too much fast food and sitting on your backside is making you soft.”
“My wife likes me fluffy.”
Davis clicked his mic twice for silence. About a hundred yards ahead a light shown in a window.
Robb’s cabin.
They moved forward about thirty yards.
Davis scanned the windows with the NVG. No human movement inside. “Stay put and cover me. I’m going to check for Robb’s car.”
“Roger. Got your back. Be careful.”
Davis crouched, ran to the cabin, and peered through the tiny garage window. A door that led into what appeared to be the kitchen reflected light into the garage enough for Davis to verify the vehicle inside belonged to Robb.
“We’ve got him,” he whispered into the mic. “Robb’s car is here. Call in the backup. I’m coming your way.”
“Roger.”
Davis turned towards the road when he heard a faint sound that resembled a kitten’s mew. Then another muffled noise from a back bedroom like someone screaming behind a gag.
“Cancel that. I think he has someone inside. You go to the back door. I’ll take the front. When you’re in position, let me know. We go in on the count of three.”
Less than a minute passed when Hunter said, “I’m in position.”
From the living room came the heart-stopping sound of a shotgun racking and the room went dark. “Hunter, watch out! He has a shotgun,” Davis yelled just as a large hole blasted through the front door close enough that a few buckshot embedded in his shoulder like a dozen bee stings. He swore, fired two shots where the flash came from, then dodged around the corner.
“Davis, you hit?” Hunter shouted in the mic.
“He just nicked me. I don’t think I hit him. Too dark inside to see.”
Head lights flashed about a mile away. The deputies were coming in silent but it was too late for stealth.
“I think there’s a girl in the back bedroom. Get back there and make sure he doesn’t get into that room. I’ll try to keep him occupied. Help is almost here. We don’t want him to use her as a hostage.”
“Roger.”
Davis busted the front window with his gun butt and fell back as another blast from the .12 gage sounded. He darted back to the portal and fired two shots. That time he didn’t miss. Robb groaned, but Davis had no idea how bad he was hit. Could he still fire the shotgun?
“I’ve got the girl,” Hunter said into the mic. You still okay?”
“Yeah. Robb is down. I don’t know how bad.”
Two cruisers slammed into the yard their headlights illuminating the living room. Inside, Robb sat against the wall, blood seeped from a hole in his chest and another in his abdomen. The gun two feet away.
Davis strode into the room and checked Robb’s pulse. It was weak but he was alive. “Get an ambulance,” Davis shouted to the deputies.
“It’s on the way,” a burly deputy said. “Why didn’t you guys wait for us?”
“Couldn’t. He knew we were here and he had a hostage.”
Davis met his partner in a hallway, holding up a very frightened woman. “Is she hurt?”
“No. He snatched her off the lake jogging path about thirty-minutes before we arrived.”
They both turned as paramedics swarmed in and took charge of Robb and the girl. Before she left, the girl came back to Davis and gave him a damp kiss on the cheek. “Thank you. You probably saved my life.”
Hunter patted her shoulder. “I’m just glad we arrived when we did. You take care.”
One of the techs noticed the blood on Davis’s coat. “You hurt?”
“I took some buckshot in the shoulder. Nothing serious but it sure ruined a nice suit. Clean the wound for me and I’ll stop by emergency in Twin Falls and let them take it out.”
“Okay, tough guy,” the tech said. “Follow me to the ambulance and take off that jacket.”
Hunter shadowed him to the emergency vehicle and watched while the medic cleaned and bandaged his shoulder. Davis glanced up at his partner. “How did Robb know we were here?”
Hunter placed a foot on the emergency vehicle’s bumper and nodded toward the cabin. “He had an elaborate homemade security system in the bedroom. You set off a silent alarm when you crossed the perimeter.”
“Yeah, I get buckshot and you get a kiss from the victim. What’s wrong with that picture?”
Hunter shrugged and grinned. “What can I tell you? Girls like fluffy.”
The two hefty EMT’s laughed and bumped Hunter’s knuckles.
CHAPTER 7
Monday, July 20
The Bradford Residence
Twin Falls, Texas
Josh Bradford stepped from the shower, wrapped a large towel around his waist, and used a smaller one to remove the moisture from his hair.
Sara sat at the dressing table applying mascara to her eyelashes before leaving for work.
Their eyes met in the mirror and he smiled at her, thinking how lovely she looked. Sun from the skylight caught the gold strands in her hair, wrapping her in a glow that made her eyes sparkle.
She hesitated for only a moment before she returned his smile.
He’d made love to her last night for the first time in months. Holding her close, her body soft and warm next to his had felt perfect.
Emboldened, he crossed the room and stood behind her chair. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he leaned over, and kissed her cheek just above her ear. For a moment, she leaned back against him, her eyes closed, then she relaxed and turned towards him. “I have to go, Josh.”
Disappointment clenched his gut and he moved away into the walk-in closet to dress. Despite the frustration he felt, he knew they were going to mend their marriage. It would take time, but the counseling sessions were going well. Sara seemed willing to believe he could change. “I’ll be home for dinner tonight. I have a deposition to get this afternoon but it shouldn’t take long.”
“Good, I’ll see you then,” she said and started for the door, then as if on impulse, she came back and placed a light kiss on his lips.
He pulled her close and deepened the kiss, feeling her respond. He tightened the grip around her waist and trailed his lips to the hollow of her throat. After a moment she tried to move away. “I really must go. I have a budget meeting this morning at nine.”
He held on for a moment longer then nodded and reluctantly released her.
“See you tonight.”
Minutes later she was gone, but the scent of her perfume lingered on his skin.
Monday, July 20
Stanbridge Law Firm
Dallas, Texas
Josh spent the morning tallying his billing hours for the week and packing his briefcase for the deposition this afternoon. Just before lunch, his private line rang.
“Josh, Allison Cramer is here,” his secretary said. “She would like to see you for a moment if possible.”
Allison was the client he had settled a hefty law suit for just over three weeks ago.
“Sure, send her in. I can spare a few minutes.”
A timid knock sounded at the door and Allison crossed to his desk. She was almost as tall as Josh with short dark curls, emerald eyes, and a fashion model’s figure.
“I just wanted to say thanks again, and I brought you a gift.” She laced a bottle of Dom Perignon champagne on his desk.
Josh picked up the bottle. “That’s a stylish gift, Allison. You shouldn’t have.”
She laughed. “Thanks to you, I can afford it.” Unexpectedly, she leaned across the desk and kissed him on the mouth. He responded almost as a reflex.
The click of his office door sounded and he looked past Allison.
Sara stood in the doorway. Her face white and disillusioned.
“Sara!” Josh dashed from the office to catch her, but she’d gone when he reached the underground parking. He mentally kicked himself all the way back to the fifth floor. She would never believe it was a casual kiss from a grateful client. And he had to admit it hadn’t been that innocent. Although unintentional, it violated their commitment.
Why did this have to happen now, when things were going so well? Was God punishing him for his past sins? No, he couldn’t blame God for this one. He had chosen to respond to Allison’s kiss. He could easily have stepped away as he should have.
Perhaps Seth could help him convince Sara it meant nothing.
Monday, July 20
Robert Cooks Place
Twin Falls, Texas
A cloud of depression hung over him as he left work at three o’clock for the deposition. He wanted to allow plenty of time to get the information he needed and get home for dinner.
He pulled into the gravel circular drive in front of a white frame house that was in serious need of paint.
An old blue pickup sat in the driveway, also in need of paint, with rust spots on the hood. At the side of the yard another old car sat on cement blocks where two wheels should have been.
He crossed the yard on rock pavers that led to the porch, across a brown lawn that had gasped its last breath of life. If the inside looked as unkempt as the outside, he would make this a very short interview.
He knocked on the door and waited. When there was no answer, he knocked again. This time the sounds of a slow shuffle of feet moved towards him. The door opened and a short thin man of about sixty, wearing a thin blue bathrobe, opened the door. His watery blue eyes seemed unfocused and his breath was an asthmatic wheeze. White stubble covered the bottom half of his wrinkled face.
“Mr. Robert Cook?” Josh asked.
The man didn’t respond. He merely turned back into the house, leaving the door open. Josh took that as affirmation and followed him inside. A blast of hot air met Josh as he entered the living room, intensifying the smell of cigarette smoke and stale food. He could hear the air conditioning running and guessed the thermostat must be set on eighty.
As he expected, the interior was as neglected as the rest of the property. Newspapers covered the sofa and Camel butts overflowed the ashtray onto a scarred coffee table. A half-full liquor bottle and a dirty glass sat within reach. From the sofa, he could see food-crusted dishes stacked in and around the kitchen sink.
Josh tried to ask Cook the questions he came for, but the old man was too intoxicated to focus. He rambled on about watching a man bury a child’s body at the lake.
Josh finally admitted defeat and rose to leave. The telephone on the end table rang and he debated whether or not to answer, then he leaned over and picked up the receiver.
“Bob?” A man’s voice asked.
“No, this is Josh Bradford. Mr. Cook is . . . ah . . . indisposed at the moment. May I take a message?”
There was a pause, then the man said, “No, I’ll call him later.” The line went dead.
Josh packed up his briefcase and headed for the door when he noticed a lit cigarette dangling from the old man’s fingers. If he left him here drunk, would he set himself and the house on fire?
Spurred by compassion, he came back, took the Camel from Cook’s hand and put it out, then headed into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee.
He found a dented percolator in the sink, washed it out, then searched out the coffee and filter. When the coffee was ready, he filled a cup for the old man and left him in reasonably sound condition.
Once in the car, Josh took out his cell phone and sent an email to himself, detailing the story Cook had told. It was probably just drunken nonsense, but he would turn it over to Matt Foley and let him make the call.
He slipped a DVD into the stereo system and listened to the soundtrack of show tunes from Cats, and thought of Sara waiting at home for him, hurt, disappointed and angry. God had given him another chance to save his marriage, and he prayed he hadn’t blown it.
It was a lonely stretch of road that led back into Twin Falls. The country lane was dark with little traffic, only one car, a red Mustang headed in the opposite direction. The beautiful melodies kept him company until the steering wheel gave a dip to the side and a thump, thump sounded over the music.
He groaned with the knowledge he had a flat tire. Probably picked up a nail in Cook’s driveway. Calling AAA was an option, but it could take hours for someone to get here. Pulling onto the soft shoulder, he got out, opened the trunk, retrieved the spare and the jack, and then set about changing the tire.
When he was tightening the last lug nut, the roar of a big engine sounded long before the vehicle came into view. It was moving much too fast on the narrow road. Headlights appeared and just before it reached him, Josh realized it was headed directly towards him, a sinister missile he couldn’t avoid.
The crunch of metal and sounds of shattered glass filled the night air. He felt an impact, his body hurled through space, then landed on soft grass somewhere near his car.
Vaguely, he watched the Mustang keep going out of sight. Strange, but he felt no pain as he looked up at the stars in the night sky above him. “Sara, love . . . I’m so sorry . . .”
Then Josh Bradford felt nothing at all.