Darby scrunched her nose. “Is that still possible with newer cars? I thought hot-wiring was just for older cars.”
“Well, it’s trickier for sure, but determined thieves found ways around the safeguards and shared the info on the internet for delinquent teens like Grant to find and practice.”
“Grant was a delinquent? I thought Hunter was the wild child of the family.”
“Grant had his moments, especially when it came to cars. He loves to tinker and was known to drag race and go for unauthorized joyrides.”
Darby digested this new insight on Grant for a moment, then returned to the topic at hand. “So we’re going to steal one of the marshals’ cars?”
“Borrow.”
She snorted at his semantics. “Then I need to find a way to distract them and buy you time to work your magic.”
“Exactly. Whatcha got?”
“I could fake an injury or illness.”
Connor stroked a hand over his mouth as he considered it. “They’d wonder why I wasn’t helping you and might guess pretty quick it was a bluff without real physical evidence of illness.”
“I’m not against cutting myself to get blood for realism.”
Connor angled his head to frown down at her. “No. I won’t let you do that. Keep thinking.”
They spent more than an hour working out details for implementing their plan to sneak away from the safe house undetected. Or at least to distract or detain the marshals long enough to make their getaway. Having an action plan, something to do with a goal in mind, gave Darby renewed energy and focus. They spent the morning surreptitiously gathering the tools and laying the groundwork.
Just after lunch, Darby and Connor excused themselves to their bedroom for a nap. After about twenty minutes, Connor slipped from their bedroom into the one the marshals alternately used. When he was in place, Darby got to work.
Standing on the toilet in their bathroom, she screamed.
Both Morris and Ramsey came scrambling back to respond to the commotion, weapons drawn.
“Over there! Get him!” She aimed a finger to the far corner of the bathroom.
Ramsey filled the bedroom door, while Morris ducked into the small bathroom, his body tense. “What is it?”
Darby flailed her arms, keeping the marshals’ attention while Connor slipped out of the second bedroom and hurried to the front door. “There was a mouse!”
Morris relaxed, lowering his weapon. “Geez, Darby, I thought there was a break-in.”
“There was! A mouse! Get him,” she screamed, trying to sound hysterical.
“I don’t see—”
“Now he’s over here!” She screamed again and jumped off the toilet, racing for the bathroom door.
Ramsey stepped closer to the bathroom, chuckling at Darby’s girlish hysterics and peering in at Morris. “Where’s your cat? Why not let him catch it?”
Darby grunted and hitched her head toward the feline lounging on the bed, blinking curiously at the commotion around him. “Fat chance of that. Toby’s a lover, not a hunter. Just grab the mouse and throw it out of here!” She darted to the bedroom window and shoved it open. The house alarm, as predicted, shrieked, sending Toby scurrying...and allowing Connor to also open the front door without alerting the marshals.
Ramsey turned toward her. “Close that! We’ll trap the critter and take him out the back door.”
“Darby, there’s no mouse,” Morris said, bent at the waist checking inside cabinets below the sink.
“Look again!” She scurried back toward the bathroom, planting a hand on Ramsey’s chest when he tried to exit the bathroom. “Help him look!” She shoved him back and slammed the backward-installed door. “And don’t come out without that rat!”
She quickly flipped the knob latch, locking the marshals in. Immediately they knew they’d been duped and rattled the doorknob. “Not funny, Darby! Open up!”
Soon enough, they’d give up ordering her to release them and kick the door down. She hurried out the front door, joining Connor on the front lawn where he was already at work jerry-rigging the steering column of the marshals’ sedan.
“They’re locked in the bathroom,” she told Connor as she snatched open the passenger door and clambered inside. “But they won’t be for long. Hurry!”
“Almost there.” He fiddled a bit more while she anxiously watched the front door, expecting Morris and Ramsey to come charging out any second.
When the engine roared to life, she exhaled the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Let’s go!”
Ramsey appeared in the front door, his face dark with fury, just as Morris ran around the corner from the back of the house. “Don’t do it! Stop!”
Connor jammed the car into gear and peeled down the dirt driveway, spraying dust and debris kicked up by the back tires. Morris gave chase on foot, shouting for them to stop, but Connor quickly outpaced him. He whipped the car onto the small state road and stomped the accelerator.
Darby grabbed the armrest and cut her gaze to the side mirror, where she saw Morris, then Ramsey, stumble to a stop at the end of the dirt drive and stare helplessly at their escaping charges. A pang of remorse poked her. She hated that they’d had to resort to tricking the marshals and making them look bad to their superiors, but she shoved the regret down. Morris had lied to her about Savannah’s welfare, about the call he’d gotten. She and Connor were doing what they had to do, what any parent would do, to protect Savannah.
Shifting her attention to Connor, who squeezed the steering wheel with a white-knuckled grip and whose jaw was rigid, she settled back on the seat and buckled her safety belt.
“Look around for something that might tell us where we are and how to get back to Lagniappe.” Connor waved a finger toward the map pockets in the door by her. She pulled out a stack of papers and flipped through them but saw nothing helpful. Next she checked the console between the front seats, storage cubbies on the dash and a file folder she found on the backseat. The file contained surveillance photos of Victor and James Gale. She shuddered, staring down at the faces of the men who wanted to harm her family, who had ordered a contract to kill Connor.
Connor sent her a curious look. “Got something?”
She grunted and slapped the file closed. “Nothing helpful.” She stashed the file in the map pocket and tried the glove box. When she saw the compartment’s contents, she gasped.
“What?” Connor cut a sharp side glance toward her.
She carefully extracted the handgun she’d discovered and held it up for him to see, her hand shaking and her eyes wide.
“Good!” Connor said, turning his eyes back to the road. “We may need that.”
Darby swallowed hard. “Do you really think you could shoot someone?”
“If it came to it, to save you or Savannah. Hell yeah.”
She exhaled slowly through pursed lips and set the gun on the seat beside her. Turning back to the glove box, she extracted the next treasure. A cell phone.
“Score.” She mashed the power button, and the screen lit. She keyed in Hunter’s phone number and listened to his line ring. Once. Twice.
Connor gave her a puzzled look. “Who ya calling?”
“Your brother. I want answers.”
Hunter answered on the fourth ring with a leery, “Hello?”
“It’s me. And Connor. We shook our babysitters and are on our way to the hospital.”
There was a brief pause, then, “Darby? What’s going on?”
She lowered the phone, switching it to speaker setting, then said, “That’s what we want to know. I overheard Morris on the phone discussing something that happened there with Savannah, but they wouldn’t tell us anything.”
“You mean the note,” Hunter replied, his voice dark.
She and Connor exchanged a worried look, and he said, “Tell us everything. What did the note say? Where did they find it?”
“Is Savannah all right?” Darby added. “Be honest, Hunter. Is she safe? Is she getting better?” Ahead of them, Darby spotted a highway sign, advising of an upcoming crossroad with an arrow pointing left for Lagniappe and right for Alexandria. She motioned toward the sign.
Connor nodded that he’d seen it and turned left at the intersection.
“She’s fine, Dar. The doctors have been watching her for changes because of the rat, but—”
“Rat! What rat?” Darby cried.
“The dead one delivered with the threatening note. The intruder left both on the foot of Savannah’s bed while she slept. A gruesome little warning for Connor.”
A muscle in Connor’s cheek twitched, and his mouth pressed into a frown. “Damn it.”
Visions of bubonic plague, hanta virus, rabies and other rodent-borne illnesses surrounding her immune-deficient daughter sent a fresh ripple of horror through Darby. “Oh, God,” she groaned.
“Darby, listen to me.” Hunter’s voice sharpened and cut through her straying thoughts. “Savannah is okay. She wasn’t hurt. In fact, she’s made small improvements every day.”
She huffed a huge sigh of relief. “You promise?”
“I swear,” Hunter replied. “But you can’t come back here. Especially not Connor.”
“Why?” Connor asked gruffly.
“Because that’s what the note was angling for.” Hunter’s tone was grim. “It said for you to give yourself up or they’d hurt Savannah.”
Darby couldn’t help the small whimpering sound that issued from her throat. She squeezed the door’s armrest and bit down on her lip.
“Bro, that’s why we have to come. I can’t give them a reason to hurt my daughter. And I’m sure as hell not leaving her protection up to anyone else. How was this guy able to get past the marshal on duty? All the nurses?”
“I’m not sure. It happened really early in the morning, at the nurses’ shift change. Hargrove swears no one but nurses went in or out, which means the Gales had to have bribed or threatened one of the nurses to plant the note and rat for them.”
“And where were you?” Connor asked, his timbre condemning. Darby sent him a scolding look.
Hunter sighed, and the breathy sound resonated with despondency. “At home. I went home to sleep last night. I’d only gotten three or four hours a night on that rock they call a sofa in the waiting area outside Savannah’s room, and it was showing at work. We almost had a loss time accident at a construction site a couple days ago because of my inattention. I’m sorry, guys. I know I should have been—”
“No, don’t blame yourself,” Darby interrupted. She knew the hazards of the blame game too well.
Connor pounded the steering wheel with his fist, his body vibrating with his frustration. “All the more reason for us to come.”
“No,” Hunter countered. “Stay away. Go back to the marshals’ safe house.”
“Ain’t happening.” Connor lifted the gun from the seat where Darby had left it and jabbed the magazine catch. After he’d confirmed that the pistol was loaded, he clicked the magazine back in place and stashed the gun at the small of his back. “This is my fight, and I will fight it.”
Darby wet her lips, anxiety roiling in her gut. Was this a mistake? Had she let her fears for her daughter and desperate yearning to be with Savannah muddle her judgment?
“Man, I know you think you have to—” Hunter started.
Connor took the phone from Darby. “It’s decided.” He disconnected with Hunter, then dialed a new number from memory with his thumb.
“Connor...”
He sent her a quelling look as his call was answered by a male voice.
“James, it’s Connor Mansfield.”
James? As in James Gale? A prickle of alarm raced down her spine. Eyes wide with panic, she grabbed Connor’s arm and mouthed, “What are you doing?”
James Gale hesitated, then said, “Mansfield. What do you want?”
“I want you and the rest of your family to stay the hell away from my little girl!” Connor snarled.
“I told you before I have no interest in hurting your family.” James’s voice was flat, firm. “Especially not your daughter.”
“Really?” Connor’s lip curled, and his tone was venomous. “Then explain the dead rat and threatening note left in her hospital room early this morning. My daughter’s immunity is compromised because of the transplant, and you put a filthy rat in her room? That’s dirty pool, even for you.”
“A rat?” James sounded genuinely startled. Surprisingly angry. “Was your girl hurt?”
“If she gets some latent infection or illness because of her exposure to that rat, I’ll hunt you and your brother both down and kill you myself!”
“Not if I get to my brother first,” James growled. “I had nothing to do with the rat or any threats to your daughter. I’ve told you I don’t condone the injury of innocents, and I meant it. But I’m afraid Victor isn’t as merciful.”
Darby pressed both hands over her face, struggling to keep her composure. She felt as if the last threads of her sanity—of her life—were coming unraveled. She drew slow breaths and fought to hold herself together, willing Connor to drive faster, get her to Savannah as quickly as possible. Please, God, don’t let Victor Gale hurt my baby!
“If anything happens to Savannah or any member of my family, so help me,” Connor warned James, echoing her thoughts, “I’ll—”
“It won’t,” James said. “I’ll see to it. Let me handle my brother.”
“No. I will not trust my daughter’s safety to you or anyone else. She’s my responsibility, and I will do what I have to to protect her. Am I making myself clear?”
The unspoken threat in Connor’s tone and the vengeance in his eyes stirred a gnawing ache in Darby’s gut.
“Perfectly. But remember this—it’s still open season on you. Any move you make, you make at your own risk.” James’s cold, unflinching tone sent a chill through Darby.
“Go to hell,” Connor gritted and jabbed the disconnect button. Throwing the phone aside, he narrowed his gaze on the highway, his expression stormy.
Darby’s mouth dried, and she reached for Connor’s arm, could feel the tension vibrating in him. “Don’t do anything crazy, Connor. I couldn’t stand for anything to happen to you. Protecting Savannah is one thing. Going looking for trouble is another. Don’t do anything that will paint a target on your back.” She squeezed his wrist. “Please, Connor.”
He lifted his hand from the steering wheel to twine his fingers with hers and kiss the back of her hand. He gave her a quick glance and sighed. “I can’t make that promise. I have to end this. One way or another.”
* * *
Victor Gale yawned and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. Surveillance was boring, tedious work, but he had every reason to believe it would pay off. He rocked back in the rolling chair stationed in front of the bank of monitors affording the hospital security a view of every entrance and hallway in the building. The security office was tucked away in the basement of the hospital, off the beaten path for ninety-nine percent of hospital employees. Just the same, he’d donned the uniform of the security guard whose body he’d stashed in the security office utility closet, in case anyone glanced through the hall window. When Officer Nance had returned from his early morning call concerning a dead rat and threatening note in the isolation room of a pediatric patient, Victor had been waiting. He figured he had a few hours left before the next shift arrived. He hadn’t seen his quarry yet, but he had patience.
If Mansfield got even a whiff of the news that Victor had paid a visit, via one very scared and cooperative nurse’s aide, to his kid’s hospital room
, he should be showing up anytime now. Men like Connor Mansfield—and James, for that matter—were easy to manipulate. Just point a gun at their wife’s head or promise harm to one of their snot-nosed brats, and these family men—Victor snorted at the term—crumpled like wet paper.
Not him. He wouldn’t let anything get in the way of exacting vengeance for Pop’s incarceration. He hesitated when that entered his mind. Maybe he was a family man, too. His loyalty was to Pop. Victor shook his head as if to rid himself of the irony. His allegiance to Pop was different. He couldn’t say how. It just...was.
Victor’s cell buzzed, and looky there, speaking of his brother, the whipped bastard...
He raised the phone to his ear. “What?”
“I told you to leave Mansfield’s family alone,” James growled.
“Yeah, and I ignored you.”
James’s frustration was palpable even over the phone. “Where are you?”
“Working.”
“You’re not at the office. I was just there. Where. Are. You?”
Victor didn’t answer. He gave the monitors another encompassing glance. Still no sign of Mansfield.
“Victor, I want Mansfield to pay for betraying Pop as much as you do, but not at the expense of a child’s life. Stand down. Leave the girl alone. Do you hear me?”
On a monitor, he saw a car speed into the parking garage and jerked to a stop in a spot reserved for staff doctors. Victor leaned forward to watch the scene unfold on the small monitor and grinned when Mansfield and his girlfriend climbed out of the sedan and hurried to the elevator. “I have business to take care of now. Goodbye, James.”
Victor disconnected, even as James shouted more warnings and threats. Screw him. If James wouldn’t take action, he would. This one’s for you, Pop.
Chapter 21
Connor darted from the elevator, clutching Darby’s hand, and they jogged down the corridor to Savannah’s isolation room. Seeing them approach, Hunter and Marshal Hargrove rose from chairs in the visitors’ area outside Savannah’s room.
The Return of Connor Mansfield Page 23