Burned Too Hot: A Thriller (Val Ryker series Book 2)

by Ann Voss Peterson

  “Why would Pender want to help Hess?”

  “I don’t know that she is. I don’t know what’s going on anymore. But I’m getting my niece.”

  “We are getting your niece. I care about Grace too, you know.”

  Val glanced his way, just for a fraction of a second, but Lund could feel it with every fiber.

  As they entered West Baraboo, Val slowed, but not very much. Within a minute, they reached the front entrance of the county’s law enforcement center.

  Stopping the car, Val turned to Lund and pulled her gun from her holster. Flipping it around, she offered the grip to him. “You’re right. We. Now let’s go get Grace.”

  Grace

  Sobs were still wracking Grace’s body when little fingers slipped under the blindfold. Prying upward, the boy slid the band of tight, tear-soaked fabric up and over her eyebrows.

  Grace blinked away the glare. She had no idea how long she’d been in her dizzy half-sleep, but the sun was shining and hot for March. The interior of her dad’s rental car came into focus and, hovering beside her, the face of a little boy with a mop of blondish hair, big cheeks, and bright eyes. Ice blue.

  The little boy who was missing.

  Dixon Hess’s son.

  She knew it was stupid to feel afraid of a little kid, especially one who’d curled into her lap and slipped off her blindfold, one who smelled like graham crackers. But for a moment, all she could think about was his father.

  Some kind of machine roared outside the car. Shaking herself, she managed a smile for the little boy, then struggled to sit up, her hands tied behind her back. “Ethan, right?”

  The boy gave her a smile.

  “Thank you, Ethan.” Rising as high as she could in the tiny space between front seats and back, she flopped her upper body onto a diaper bag and a folded up Pack-and-Play.

  If the woman came back and saw Grace trying to escape, Grace wasn’t sure what she would do. But staying wasn’t an option. She needed to get out of here, find a way to let Aunt Val know where she was.

  “Cacker?” Ethan held up a graham cracker that was chewed and a little wet on one end.

  “No thanks. I want to get out of the car.”

  = “Stay car. Gace.”

  “Yup, you’re supposed to stay with Grace.” She rolled back and forth until she worked her hips up to the seat’s edge. Then bracing herself with her legs, she levered her body high enough to peer out the window.

  They were parked near a building, and it took Grace a moment to recognize the blue-gray steel that seemed more appropriate to be used as a barn than a morgue. The deep roar of an engine came from the street. A big crane-like thing trundled up the road, a wrecking ball dangling from its arm.

  Grace stretched to see out the back window. Past the morgue, she could see the far northern end of the jail building, and if the morgue really should be a barn, the jail should be a modest, two story dorm, like ones she’d visited when touring colleges. And just on the other side of the jail, she could see a sliver of the Dairy Queen sign.

  “Story?” Ethan said, trying to pull a book out of one of the bags on the seat.

  Grace had to get out of here, but she couldn’t leave Ethan. Sure, he might be the son of Dixon Hess, but he was also an innocent little kid. She’d have to find a way to take him with her.

  She glanced around the interior, taking inventory, and focused on the key just sitting there in the ignition, waiting for her to steal the car a second time in one day… if only she had use of her hands.

  Grace continued her visual search, but couldn’t spot anything sharp enough to cut the ropes. She might be able to come up with something inside the morgue. Or better still, a phone. And if that crazy Harlan guy was there, he’d call Aunt Val for sure.

  But first she needed to convince a toddler to go with her. She glanced back at the jail and Dairy Queen sign. “Ethan? Do you like ice cream?”

  “Ice cream?” he said, the words barely recognizable. “Ice cream!”

  “If you come with me, we will eat ice cream.”

  He bounced on his little haunches, dropping the rest of his soggy cracker on the floor. “Oops.”

  “Don’t worry about that. We don’t want crackers. We want ice cream.”

  “Ice cream!”

  Grace scooted closer to the car door, hands still bound behind her back. Bending forward, she reached for the door handle. Her fingers touched metal, and she gave the lever a pull.

  Nothing.

  The car must have those child-proof back doors.

  Pulling in a shuddering breath, Grace willed herself not to lapse back into tears. Instead, she pushed to her feet, stooping low, head rubbing against the car’s ceiling. She shifted her weight to her left leg and stepped between the front bucket seats with her right.

  The process took forever, and with each shift of her weight and contortion of her body, she was sure the door would fly open, and whoever that woman was would catch her.

  Or worse, Dixon Hess himself.

  Finally she slid behind the wheel and repeated the leaning-forward-reaching-back process.

  This time the door opened.

  She scrambled out then peered back inside for Ethan. “Let’s go get some ice cream.”

  “Ice cream!” He clambered between the bucket seats and out the door. Then he smiled up at her and held out his hand.

  “Sorry, buddy.” She turned to show him her tied hands. “Let’s go in here so we can get ice cream.”

  Grace circled the morgue’s corner and ran for the front entrance, Ethan scampering behind. She’d just reached it and twisted around to grab the knob when one of the loudest sounds she’d ever heard crashed behind her.

  Grace turned just in time to see the wrecking ball draw back from the jail, a jumble of brick and plaster and screaming people hemorrhaging from the building’s wound.

  Chapter

  Thirty-One

  Val

  Lund reached out to touch the Glock’s grip, then stopped.

  “I have a shotgun in the trunk,” Val said, guessing the reason for his hesitation. “Bigger range, less need to be accurate.”

  Lund nodded. Just as he took the weapon, a loud crash echoed off the collection of buildings. “What the hell was that?”

  “Not a bomb.” Val stopped the car. Lund wasn’t going to like this, but if she worded it just right… “I need you to do something for me.”

  “Name it.”

  “Run into the sheriff’s department. Tell them what we know.”

  Lund shook his head. “You’re not going to handle this yourself. I’m going with you.”

  “If you alert the sheriff’s department, I won’t be handling it alone. And frankly, they have more training than you do.”

  He held up the weapon she’d just given him. “Are you saying I’m not good with a gun?”

  “I’m saying we are going to do this, but it would be stupid to not make sure we have help.”

  “Didn’t the county send everything it had to deal with the fire in Lake Loyal? How many deputies are even available?”

  “I don’t know. But I have a feeling they need to send every one of them. They need to be prepared. Please, Lund.”

  He looked at her for a couple seconds, then leaned toward her and brought his lips to hers. The kiss was a quick peck, more a wish of good luck than anything else, but the feel of his lips made Val want to reach for him and hold on.

  Instead, she gripped the wheel harder.

  He opened his door and leveraged himself out of the seat, the grimace on his face proof he was still in a lot of pain. “Be careful.”

  “You, too.”

  He slammed the door. Nerves taut as a bow string, Val hit the gas, driving away before either of them could change their minds.

  The morgue was on the north side of the cluster of buildings dedicated to county law enforcement, but although it was directly accessible by walking through the law enforcement center, Val had to circle a very large
block to reach it in her car.

  The area was composed of a Farm and Fleet store, scattered warehouses, and open fields of drab, brown grass. With little traffic even during the day, Val destroyed the speed limit and blew through a stop sign, the tires of her Taurus squealing around the final corner.

  Up ahead, she could see the steel pole barn that housed the morgue. The next thing she saw was Mark’s rental car parked along the side, the jail building beyond, and the gaping hole in its northern-most wall.

  A crane stood at the corner. The dark-haired woman at the controls had to be Pender, and Val stomped the accelerator as the wrecking ball drew back to start another swing at the stucco-and-brick wall.

  Val swerved into the driveway flanking the morgue. She needed to stop Pender, but first, she had to know if Grace was in that car. Val slammed her Taurus into park and scrambled out. Without the crutches, running was a slow, awkward business. By the time she reached the rental car, the steel ball was arcing forward.

  Smash!

  Oh, hell.

  Val peered into the car’s window. No Grace. The back bench seat was lined with suitcases, bags, a play pen, and strapped in the front passenger seat was a child’s booster.

  Ethan?

  She opened the driver’s door, hit the button releasing the rear lock, and circled to the back as fast as she could. Holding her breath, she lifted the trunk.

  Several rifles, a duffle she’d bet held handguns, and dozens of boxes of ammunition jammed the small space. The guns stolen from the Tiedemann house.

  But where was Grace?

  Boom!

  Val limped around the building to her car. Popping the Taurus’s trunk, she grabbed her shotgun. The deputies would be here soon, at least the few who weren’t evacuating apartment buildings and houses as the whole east side of Lake Loyal went up in smoke.

  She sure hoped they would hurry.

  Shotgun in the ready position, Val hobbled toward the crane. The wind blew cold on her face, and yet sweat slicked her skin. She could see Pender from here, manipulating the crane’s controls, clumsy and slow, but plenty efficient enough to bring down the whole north wall of the building, if given the time. Plenty efficient to injure or kill countless inmates and deputies inside.

  “Pender!” Stepping into the woman’s line of sight, Val raised her weapon. “Hands up! Hands up!”

  The woman looked at Val, then slowly, she released the controls and raised her hands.

  “Where is my niece?”

  Pender shook her head.

  “Grace. My niece. Where is she?”

  A frown and another shake, then the psychologist glanced back up at the pulverized wall, her face hardening in pure hatred.

  Val followed the trajectory of her gaze and met a pair of ice blue eyes.

  Grace

  Despite her hands shaking so hard she could barely open the door, Grace had made it inside the morgue, Ethan at her side. When the wrecking ball had first struck the building, she’d had only one thought. That Dixon Hess was inside. That now he’d be able to get out.

  The entry way of the morgue had been quiet, the doors locked that led to the place where the bodies were kept and cut up, Harlan Runk nowhere to be found. She couldn’t find a phone, either. Starting to panic, she started down the hall to a room Harlan had shown her, his special room.

  Smash!

  Grace jumped, her heart racing. She had to find a place to hide, to keep the little boy safe.

  “Ice cream.”

  “Shh. We have to be quiet to get ice cream.”

  “Ice cream! Mine! Mine!”

  Grace reached the break room. If anyone was in the building, they already knew she and Ethan were there. She twisted around to grab the knob and turned. It moved under her hand. She pushed it open. “Come on, Ethan.”

  The little boy just stood there, shaking his head. “Ice cream. I wanna.”

  “I think there’s some inside.” She held her breath. If he decided to dart away, to throw a tantrum, to be the independent almost-two-year-old he was, she was sunk. With her arms behind her back, there wouldn’t be much she could do. She tried to infuse her voice with fun, not easy when she really wanted to scream. “Come on, Ethan. Let’s go see.”

  He looked at her for a moment more, then to her relief, slipped inside.

  Grace closed the door behind them and flicked on the light. Locking the door was tougher, but she finally was able to feel the button push and turn into place, the knob immovable.

  Ethan stared at the Ms. Pac-Man machine that Harlan had let Grace play the last time she was here, his mouth open in wonder. Grace sidled up to the refrigerator and pried the freezer open with her shoulder. When she turned around and peered inside, tears sprang to her eyes.

  It was a small victory, but deep inside, between a buildup of frost and a tray of ice cubes that were so old they looked shriveled, sat an unopened box of ice cream sandwiches.

  Grace was about to pluck the box out with her teeth when she spotted a serrated knife resting in the bottom of the small stainless steel sink. Sawing the rope took far too long. Grace’s fingers cramped. The blade slipped off the rope, cutting her wrists, but thankfully by the time Ethan grew bored with Ms. Pac-Man, Grace’s hands were free. She wiped off some of the blood with a paper towel. “Ready for ice cream, buddy?”

  The little boy’s head bobbed in a nod.

  She pulled out a sandwich, ripped open the packaging, and gave it to Ethan.

  “Ice cream!”

  “Shh.”

  He pointed to the box. “Gace.”

  “Shh,” Grace reminded.

  Another loud Boom! came from outside.

  Fingers shaking, she opened a sandwich for herself, even though eating was the last thing she wanted to do.

  Ethan gave her a smile and bit into his treat.

  She did the same, forcing herself to chew, and when the doorknob began to rattle, she stepped in front of Ethan, armed with nothing but a steak knife and some ice cream, and prayed whoever was out there didn’t get in.

  Lund

  Lund regretted letting Val go on alone as soon as he stepped onto the pavement. But now that he’d sounded the alarm, and what few soldiers the cavalry still had available were saddling up, he reassured himself that this would be for the best.

  He might have been mistaken.

  Smash!

  Lund pushed out the sheriff’s department rear door and started running toward the sound.

  Another mistake.

  Ten feet down the sidewalk, he doubled over, gasping for air, fire burning in his chest. Val’s gun—which he’d tucked into the back of his jeans like some kind of gangster in case the deputies would try to take it away from him—dug into his spine hard enough to leave a good bruise.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  This was the worst possible time for his body to give out on him. He had to get it together. Val needed him.

  Lund took a handful of painful breaths, then forced himself to straighten and concentrate on moving one foot in front of the other. Step by step. Breath by breath. He crossed the parking lot. From here he could see the alley between the morgue and the north wing of the jail, and a cloud of dust filled the space.

  A bad sign.

  Lund forced his legs to move faster, faltered, then forced them to move faster still. He reached the side of the morgue building, bracing himself against the blue-gray steel. He could hear shouts behind him, sirens piercing the air from far away.

  Pushing off from the wall, he kept going.

  One of the morgue’s side garage doors stood open, only the antique hearse Harlan Runk used as a personal car inside. Lund glanced behind, spotting a handful of deputies following, their long guns forming strange silhouettes.

  If the bomb hadn’t gone off in Lake Loyal, if the fire hadn’t spread, they’d have more help, they’d have more of a chance to—

  Boom!

  “Mr. Lund,” one of the deputies called out. “You need to stay back, let
us handle this.”

  “I can’t.” Lund was breathing hard, each intake of air excruciating.

  “I know you’re a first responder. But you’re not armed. I’m afraid either you stay back or I’ll have to keep you back, and that would be one less deputy to handle this mess.”

  Lund leaned forward, bracing hands on knees. The guy was right. He was a liability. The best thing he could do to help Val was let them do their jobs. “Fine.”

  The deputy nodded. A businesslike guy with shorn hair, he reminded Lund of Pete Olson. “The coroner, Harlan Runk, you might evacuate him from the morgue.”

  Smart man, giving Lund some kind of job. “Will do.” He split with the deputies, heading into the garage while they continued on to the clouds of dust rising from the jail’s north wing.

  Lund liked Harlan, but he was an odd one. As long as the old codger came along without argument and Val located Grace, so far as Lund was concerned, the deputies could handle the rest. He passed by the old hearse and headed for the door leading into offices and autopsy theater. The knob turned easily under his palm, and he let himself inside.

  The long corridor reaching straight ahead was clear, but he heard something, the voice of a child, loud enough to discern even with his traumatized eardrums.

  “Ice cream!”

  Ethan?

  Lund headed down the hall in the direction of the sound. As he grew closer, he heard another voice, low, the tone soothing, the words not discernable.

  Grace.

  Lund passed the hall branching off to the offices on the right and focused on the room where Harlan had let Grace play videogames. He didn’t notice the movement in the side hall until it was too late.

  A flash of black whipped from around the corner and the ASP bore down. Instinctively Lund raised his arm, attempting to shield himself as it smashed down, shuddering through his skull.

  Val

  Val swung the shotgun’s barrel from Pender, focusing up to the second floor where a monster stood.

  Hess smiled, his lips pulling back from those straight, white teeth.