Lillian Duncan - Until Death Do Us Part

by Lillian Duncan

  Reggie looked at Noah. “Go ahead, order anything you want. It doesn’t have to be off the kid’s menu.” She pointed at the huge hamburger on the front of the menu. “How about one of these with French fries and a milkshake?”

  “Chocolate.”

  “You got it. What about you, Miss Suzie? What would you like?”

  “Thpagetti.”

  “Mmm. That sounds delicious. Can I have a bite of it?”

  The little girl’s curls bobbed as she nodded in agreement. “Ok.”

  The waitress walked over with two boxes of crayons and coloring books. After giving her the kid’s orders, Reggie looked over at Misty, still wearing the sunglasses. “Go ahead and order, I’m not sure what I want yet.”

  Misty shook her head. “I’m not hungry. Just a cup of coffee for me.”

  “Two steak dinners?” Reggie arched a questioning brow at Misty. After she nodded agreement, Reggie looked back at the waitress. “I want mine medium rare. No potato for me, give me an extra side of green beans instead. And I’ll have the vinaigrette for my salad.”

  A small nod from the waitress and then she looked over at Misty. “How do you want your steak and potato?”

  “Medium well and sour cream and butter for the potato.”

  Reggie smiled inwardly. Misty looked as if she could use several potatoes, she was nothing but skin and bones.

  After the waitress left, Reggie asked the two kids some questions about this and that but they soon lost interest and started coloring their place mats. “Your kids are great.”

  Misty twisted a lock of hair around her thumb and finger and then as if realizing the nervous habit, put her hands in her lap. “Thanks.”

  “It’s not very bright in here. Why don’t you take off your sunglasses?”

  Misty shook her head and her voice sounded panicked. “That’s ok. I don’t wan—”

  Reggie put her hand over Misty’s. “It’s ok, really. I grew up in foster homes. It won’t be the first time I’ve seen a black eye.”

  Misty’s mouth trembled. She reached up and pulled off the sunglasses. A faded bruise covered her left eye. She gave a weak smile to Reggie. “Guess, I didn’t hide it very well.”

  “Is that why you’re traveling?”

  Suzie piped in. “We’re going to Grandma’s house. That way Daddy can’t hit us anymore.”

  Reggie felt a squeeze on her heart. Children were a precious gift from God, not something to take your frustrations out on—like a punching bag. She glanced over at Misty who was wiping away a tear. “It’s okay. Things happen sometimes.”

  “Frank’s not a bad guy. Just loses his temper sometimes.” She lowered her voice and looked around. “It was one thing when he hit me, but he hit Noah yesterday.”

  “The cut on his eye?”

  She nodded. “He knocked him down and hit his eye on the corner of the toy box. That was it. He crossed the line. I waited until he went to work this morning and we left. I’m not going back. Ever.”

  “Good for you. It sounds like you made the right decision.”

  “I hope so.” Misty took a deep breath. “As long as he doesn’t come after us.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Dylan cleared his throat and stared at Billy Clyde as he tossed the paper on the counter. “Are you going to do it?”

  Ignoring his question, Billy Clyde picked up the GPS triangulator and hit some buttons. A moment later, he looked up at Dylan. “I’ve got an address.”

  “Let’s roll.”

  The two men rushed out of the house in silence, both walked to the driver’s side of the SUV. Dylan held out his hands for the keys. “Let me drive, Billy Clyde. You need to conserve your strength.”

  Billy Clyde opened his mouth as if to argue. Instead, he closed it and nodded. He placed the keys in Dylan’s waiting hand. “Get in and I’ll go let the dogs in the garage. Just in case anyone comes in here, they won’t get far.”

  Billy Clyde had let the dogs out. One more extra measure of security. The dogs would never attack Dylan since they knew him without a direct order, but he preferred to keep his distance. Especially when Billy had them on security detail. The dogs took their job seriously.

  Billy Clyde climbed into the passenger seat of the van. He winced as he snapped his seat belt. He held the triangulator in his hand. “Ok, when you get to the end of the drive, turn right and head into Paw Paw.”

  Dylan nodded, grim-faced. “So, are you going to do what they want?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  Dylan looked at his friend and knew if it was Reggie, he’d do anything in the world to get her back safely. Philosophy is all well and good until it’s your loved one in danger. He only hoped it was something his friend could live with. “No, I don’t suppose you do. What do they want you to do?”

  “He wants me to get into the Secret Service database and delete a file.”

  “That’s it? That doesn’t sound like such a big deal. It doesn’t make much sense to me. What kind of file?”

  “A case file.”

  “What kind of case file. I thought they protected the president. What would they have case files for?”

  “The Secret Service has two main duties. Protect high profile politicians, like the president but they have another duty.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The Secret Service used to be part of the U.S. Treasury Department. They aren’t anymore but they retained the duty of investigating crimes relating to our treasury system so they’re responsible for investigating counterfeiting, money or bonds.”

  “Interesting. So, this joker must be under investigation for some white collar crime. And he thinks he can have you erase his file and the investigation will go away?”

  “That’s what I’m thinking.”

  “That couldn’t happen, could it?”

  “In theory—no. In reality, I suppose it could. Especially, if he had someone working on the inside and they took the paper copies and any evidence relating to the case.”

  “But if he had someone working on the inside, they could erase the file just as well as you could, right?”

  “Probably.”

  “Seems like overkill for a white collar crime.”

  Billy Clyde nodded but didn’t meet Dylan’s eyes. A pit opened up in his stomach. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “A lot of terrorists get caught because of white collar crime. They need money to fund their terrorism.”

  “You think we could be dealing with terrorists?” Suddenly hot, Dylan moved the AC up another notch. Bad enough dealing with kidnappers—but terrorists?

  He glanced over at Billy Clyde who wore a grim expression and nodded.

  Billy Clyde lifted up the camera and began snapping pictures. “Turn right at the next street. It’s the third house on the right. Don’t stop. Drive past it while I take pictures.”

  Dylan drove past the house three times before Billy Clyde was satisfied he’d taken all the pictures he needed. “Pull up in front of the house. I’m going in.”

  “I’ll take the back.”

  Billy Clyde nodded. “Turn on your radio.”

  Dylan pressed the button and slipped it in his ear. Then he hit the microphone’s button attached to his shirt lapel. “Testing…one…two…three.”

  Billy Clyde nodded his affirmation and then tested his equipment. Both men stepped out of the car.

  Dylan followed the sidewalk to the back of the house. No side door. That was good. Less ways to escape. As far as he saw, there was a front door and a back door. Of course, they could always jump out of a window if they really wanted to escape, he supposed.

  The house itself was a two-story bungalow, probably built during the post-war building boom. In spite of its age, it was well maintained. The lawn was neatly trimmed. Flowers grew in abundance along the side of the house. It looked like a typical home, not a hideout for a kidnapper.

  He walked to the back of the house and stood beside the door, keeping hims
elf out of view in case anyone was looking out the back door. He pulled out his gun and kept it by his side. He whispered softly into the mike. “I’m in place.”

  A loud knocking sound came from Billy Clyde’s mike. A moment later the squeak of a door. “Yes, can I—Mr. Addams is that you?”

  “Mrs. Miller. Is this your house?” Billy Clyde sounded surprised.

  “Yes.”

  “Who’s at home with you right now?”

  “No one.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Of course, I’m—is that gun? What’s wrong? I don’t understand.” Panic was seeping into the woman’s voice.

  As Dylan listened, he pictured a little white-haired lady with glasses.

  “It’s okay, Mrs. Miller. Don’t be frightened, but I need to check your house if that’s okay with you.”

  “Oh, dear.” The woman sounded as if she might faint. “Am I in danger?”

  “I’m not sure, but I need to check the house.”

  “Of course. Of course. Come in.”

  Whoever the woman was, she trusted Billy Clyde.

  “I have a friend at the back door. I’m going to let him in and we’re going to check your house for you.”

  “Oh my. Of course.” Her voice shook with fear.

  A moment later, Billy Clyde was at the back of the house opening the door. Mrs. Miller stood behind him. She looked just the way he’d imagined from her voice. A little old lady with white hair and glasses stood there. Her face was pale and she rubbed her hands together as if that could help the situation.

  He held out a hand. “Hi, I’m Dylan. Don’t worry. We want to make sure no one’s in the house. Where’s your basement?” She pointed at a door on the other side of the kitchen. “Is that the only way to get in and out of the basement?

  She nodded.

  Billy patted her on the shoulder. “You stay here.”

  “By myself?”

  “We’ll be right back. If you see anything strange yell as loudly as you can.”

  “Wait a minute.”

  Billy Clyde nodded and the two men stood staring at each other as she walked out of the room. A moment later she was back holding a twelve-gauge shotgun. “Okay, now you can go. I’ll be fine.”

  Dylan smiled at her. “So I see, Mrs. Miller.”

  Dylan stepped into darkness of the basement with Billy Clyde right behind him, feeling an immediate drop in temperature. After a few steps, his eyes adjusted to the dimness. It only took a few moments to know the basement was empty.

  When they came upstairs, Mrs. Miller had a teapot on the stove. “Now, you two will tell me what is going on here. Sit.”

  “We need to check the upstairs first.” Billy Clyde told her.

  “Fine. The tea will be ready by then.” Her tone told Dylan there would be no arguing with this woman.

  And she was the one with the shotgun.

  CHAPTER 17

  Propped up on pillows, Reggie watched reruns of her favorite TV drama but couldn’t stay focused on what Tony and Ziva were up to that night. Why had Dylan wanted her to leave?

  One minute they were going to take a short road trip together and the next he was telling her to go without him. Maybe, he wasn’t taking the news of no children as well as she thought—as well as he acted.

  Maybe he was sorry he’d married her.

  She closed her eyes as they filled with tears. I won’t cry. I won’t. If Dylan regretted marrying her, she couldn’t change that. God would give her the strength to deal with it.

  She picked up her cell phone and hit the speed dial button for home. It rang until the voice message came on. She hung up without leaving a message. She wanted to talk with Dylan, not a machine.

  After trying his cell phone, it rang until the voice message came on as well. She shivered as a chill traveled down her spine. Odd. He always picked up the phone when she called. She took a deep breath, refusing to let the tears fall.

  Loud pounding on a nearby door jarred her out of her pity party.

  More pounding and then yelling. “Misty, I know you’re in there. You let me in or I’m gonna break down this door and then you’ll be in trouble.”

  Her pulse raced.

  She hurried to the window and peaked out. She couldn’t see the man making all the racket, but she could hear him. The hotel clerk came running from the direction of the office. Someone must have called to complain.

  Wanting to hear what was said, she moved to the door. Keeping it latched, she opened it ever so slightly.

  “Sir, sir. What is going on? People are complaining about all the noise.”

  “So, let’em complain. What do I care? My wife is in there, and she won’t let me in.”

  “You need to calm down or I’m going to have to—”

  “Have to what?” The man snarled. “Call the cops? I don’t think so. She’s my wife and she’s got my kids. You gotta let me in there.”

  “If she wanted to let you in, she would have. You need to leave.”

  “You don’t tell me what to do with my family, understand?”

  Reggie could imagine the chest puffing going on between the two men. Misty and her kids weren’t safe. She had to get them away from this bully. More door pounding. Through the connecting door, she could hear Suzie crying.

  God, help me to help them. Her gaze fell on the connecting door. Of course. She ran and unlocked it. Another door stood in her way. She gave a soft rap and whispered. “Misty, open the door.”

  No response.

  Misty probably couldn’t hear her, but if she yelled louder Misty’s husband might hear. She rapped again and whispered just a smidgeon louder.

  No response.

  More pounding and screaming. Good, the commotion might mask her any noise she made. Taking a chance, she knocked louder and called Misty’s name as the noise continued outside.

  A moment later, the lock slowly turned.

  Relief flooded through Reggie. The door opened. Misty’s eyes appeared, full of tears and terror.

  “Hurry, come in here. Get your purse. If the manager lets him in, they’ll think you went somewhere.”

  The door opened wider. Reggie rushed in and scooped up Suzie while Misty ran around picking up her purse and herding Noah through the door. All the while, screaming and pounding continued.

  When both connecting doors were closed, Reggie handed the sobbing Suzie to her mother. She pointed to the bathroom. “Better hide in there. I’m going to peak outside but I don’t want him to see you.”

  Both children huddled under a protective arm of their mother looking terrified as they crouched against the tub.

  CHAPTER 18

  After checking the upstairs and finding it empty, Dylan walked down the steps behind Billy Clyde whose shoulders slumped more with each step they took. Dylan could imagine how horrible he felt. God, help me to help him.

  The scent of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies enticed him back to the kitchen.

  Mrs. Miller turned as they walked in.

  “How’d you bake fresh cookies so quickly?”

  Three cups of tea and a plate of cookies sat on the kitchen table.

  “Old family secret. I could tell you but then…” Her hand caressed the shotgun propped up on the counter beside her. “But then I’d have to kill you.” Her face crinkled into a smile. “Not really. Actually, I always freeze some dough when I bake and then I can stick them in the oven for a few minutes when I have unexpected guests. And presto. Fresh cookies.” She pointed to seats. They sat. “Now, you tell me what’s going on.”

  Dylan shrugged and picked up a cookie. “Mmm. These smell great.”

  “Don’t you try and sidetrack me, young man. I have questions and I want them answered.”

  The woman must have been a teacher in her younger years. The tone and the look told him it had to be true. He smiled at her and bit into the cookie. “Tastes as good as it smells.”

  Billy Clyde sighed. “Mrs. Miller, I can’t tell you
very much, but I will tell you that someone made a call from your house to me. And they aren’t very nice people.”

  Her silver curls shook. “Impossible. I’ve been here all day. Nobody was in here at all. Until you showed up toting a gun, scaring me half to death. Took ten years off my life. ”She picked up the fragile tea cup, crooked her pinkie finger, and took a sip. “And at my age that’s not a good thing.”

  Billy Clyde pointed at the woman’s shotgun, now propped up by the kitchen sink. “You look as if you can take care of yourself.”

  Her gaze shot to Dylan. “He doesn’t look well. He’s looks a might pale if you ask me. And considering his normal shade, something’s wrong.” She pointed at Billy Clyde’s shoulder. “What’s that wet spot there?”

  Billy Clyde’s teacup clattered against the saucer as he dropped it and put a self-conscious hand to his shoulder. “Nothing to worry about, Mrs. Miller.”

  She looked back and forth between the two men. Her narrowed eyes appraising each of them. After a few moments, she turned toward Billy Clyde. “Mr. Addams, did I ever tell you that my Daddy was a moonshiner?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I think so.”

  “I’ve seen gunshots before.” She stood up, her voice firm. “Take your shirt off and let me have a look.”

  Billy Clyde held up a hand to stop the woman advancing toward him. Dylan hid his smile and wondered who would win this battle. His money was on Mrs. Miller.

  “I won’t insult you by lying to you, but with all due respect, I’m not taking off my shirt. My friend here tended to it for me. It’s fine.”

  Her gaze landed on Dylan as he picked up another cookie. “How bad is it?”

  “Not bad, ma’am. It’s a through and through and I put rubbing alcohol on it and it had stopped bleeding but it’s still seeping some.”

  “Not surprising. He should be lying down resting, not running around scaring old women.”

  “I know that, but Billy Clyde has a mind of his own. He won’t listen to me.”

  “Eat a cookie, Mr. Addams.” She picked up the plate and set it in front of Billy Clyde. “Now, I know you and Theresa live out there in that cabin like you’re a hermit or something.” She looked at Dylan. “Do you know Theresa?”