Live in Person

by Lynda Fitzgerald

  Row five, toward the back. The trailers here appeared seedier, more unkempt. Weeds, some of them nearly waist high, grew up in the sandy soil between the lots. Discarded propane tanks in various states of rust corrosion littered the ground. That had to be illegal. She felt a bubble of hysteria rise at the thought.

  By the end of row five, she was feeling desperate. Where was he? If her brother was here, she intended to find him. She wasn’t leaving this place until she did.

  As she turned on to row six, her breath caught in her throat. There it was, parked in plain view beside the last trailer. Bobby’s description was spot on.

  Her gaze flew to Rand, who was making backing up motions with his hand. Allie eased to a stop. Then, she put the Jeep in reverse and began to back slowly.

  Where was Len? Was he inside?

  She backed on to row five and braked. He motioned her to put the Jeep in park and turn off the engine. Allie did it. War games and strategy were second nature to this man. She’d defer to the expert.

  He leaned close. “We have to take it on foot from here,” he whispered. “We’ll circle around the trailer from behind. That way we can make sure he doesn’t sneak Len out the back way if he hears any sirens. I asked Dad to come in quiet, but one mistake…” He didn’t have to finish the sentence. Allie knew what one mistake meant.

  She started to open her door, but Rand’s hand closed over her arm as he pointed at the keys still in the ignition. Allie shut her eyes and bowed her head in gratitude. The dinging would have sounded like the bells of St. Peter’s in this quiet. She gave Rand’s arm an appreciative squeeze before pulling out the keys and dropping them gently in her purse.

  She eased her door open in unison with Rand. He came around the back of the Jeep and motioned that they should go down row five to reach the trailer with the motorcycle.

  Allie swallowed hard. Where the hell was Sheryl?

  ■ ■ ■

  Sheryl laid on the horn again, earning her several dirty looks from the other drivers. “Christ, I wish I had my cruiser.”

  They were on US 1 where traffic had come to a standstill. Several motorists were out of their cars, milling about and chatting.

  Del stroked her arm. “Honey, she said Rand called his father. The sheriff’s on his way. Everything’s going to be OK.”

  “Don’t honey me,” Sheryl said, blasting the horn again. “I want that bastard as much as Allie does.”

  “You’re getting too upset.”

  Sheryl leveled a look at him. “Run up there, and see what the hold-up is,” she said, pointing in front of them.

  Del stared at her.

  Sheryl snatched off her seat belt. “All right, then, I will.”

  She swung open her door, but Del pulled her back in the car. “I will.”

  Sheryl watched as he sprinted out of sight. People were watching her, and many eyes followed Del as he vanished from sight. What? Did they think it was a domestic dispute or what?

  Sheryl drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. She squirmed in her seat. She smacked the steering wheel with her fist. “That’s it. I’m going.”

  As she climbed out of the car, Del ran back. “It’s a bad accident. An eighteen-wheeler and two cars. The whole road is closed.”

  “Any vehicles in the median?” she asked, jumping back in the car and throwing it in drive.

  Del slid in the passenger seat. “No—” was all he got out before she floored it.

  Del grabbed for his seat belt as Sheryl sped across the well-mown grass. As they neared the accident site, an officer stepped out and held up his hand. Sheryl pulled out her badge and held it up to the windshield, and the officer waved her on.

  Once clear of the bottleneck, she pressed the gas pedal to the floor. She heard Del mutter, “This can’t be good for the baby.” Then, a few minutes later, “I need to get her a safer car.” She would have smiled if she’d had time.

  The miles vanished beneath their wheels. She passed everything she saw, zipping in between cars like a water bug on a pond. When she saw the sign for the trailer park, she slowed to a crawl.

  Half a dozen cruisers were parked on the side of the road. She pulled in behind them.

  Cord stood in the center of a group of officers. He nodded when Sheryl joined them. “I want the area fully contained. We have good reason to believe Finch is in there, and he has a potential hostage. We don’t want this to turn any uglier than it has to.”

  “I’m going in with them,” Sheryl said.

  “You’re not on duty, Levine.”

  “Allie’s in there.”

  “So is my son,” Cord said, his eyes hooded and his voice level. “We’ll take this slowly. And carefully.”

  Sheryl stepped back. By God, they weren’t going to stop her. That was Allie in there. If Sidney got his hands on her, she was a dead woman. Sheryl would obey a direct order, but Cord hadn’t given her a direct order.

  She took a few more steps back and turned, motioning to Del. They slipped between the cruisers and into the brush at the side of the road.

  ■ ■ ■

  Allie followed Rand’s lead. They walked slowly, like a young couple out for an afternoon stroll. Allie felt the adrenaline surging through her like a tonic. Let her find him. Just let her find Sidney and she’d kill him for all the grief he’d brought to her and her brother and the rest of her family. He deserved to die. She remembered Del telling her to be a warrior. “Be ready to kill, Allie. If it comes down to kill or be killed, be ready to kill.” Well, she was ready.

  She couldn’t imagine how Rand could look so calm. Maybe she looked calm, too, but she didn’t feel calm.

  As they neared the end of the row, Rand touched her arm. He motioned her to drop down low and gave her a hand signal that said, “Follow me.” Allie nodded and slipped in behind him.

  They plastered themselves against the last trailer in row five and eased around the corner until they had the trailer where the Harley was parked in sight. There were no lights showing from the windows, but it was still daylight. Still, the black at the windows looked too complete to be natural, especially because Allie couldn’t see any curtains hanging there. Rand motioned her to stop. “I’m going to circle the back and see if I can see anything,” he whispered. “You stay here in case someone comes out the door.”

  Allie nodded and watched as Rand made a complete circle of the trailer. Maybe if they couldn’t see in, whoever was in there couldn’t see out, either.

  After what seemed like an eternity, he returned. “Not a sound in there. Let’s go back to the car—”

  “I don’t think so,” said a voice behind them.

  Twenty-eight

  Allie spun around and cried out at what she saw. Len, gagged and bound, his eyes wide with terror. His face was swollen on one side, black and purple, his hair matted and his shirt stained with blood. He was unsteady on his feet. Sidney held him, one arm around Len’s neck and a gun shoved under his chin. Allie could tell Sidney’s arm was all that kept Len from falling to the ground.

  Allie couldn’t say a word. Len. God, what had Sidney done to him?

  “Why don’t you let him go, Finch?” Rand said, his voice soft and even. “He hasn’t done anything to you. He’s the good guy in all this. It’s me and Allie you want.”

  Allie could have hugged him. Warrior mode, she told herself as she tried to recall what Del had taught her. Classes. Damn, she’d taken classes in self-defense. What had he told her? Her mind was a blank. This was the panic Del had told her about, the frozen moment when it’s fight or flight, and flight simply wasn’t an option.

  It began to come back. Scream. He’d told her to scream, but if she did, Sidney might pull the trigger. Oh, God, what else had he taught her?

  She could feel Rand edging over. What was he doing? She looked up, but he never took his eyes off Sidney. Was he trying to get her behind him? Very heroic, but what was the point?

  He moved again. Was he trying to get behind her?


  “Come on, Finch. You know the party’s over.”

  This had to be his mellow courtroom voice. Soothing. Mellifluous. God, where did that come from?

  “Let him go. You can get one of us, but not all of us. You can pick which one. You know how much you hate us. Allie because you think she got you into this. She ruined your life, didn’t she?”

  Allie could have kicked him. Why was he baiting Sidney?

  “And me,” Rand continued, “because I’ve got what you’ll never have. I’m Cord Arbutten’s son. His real son, not some relationship you made up.”

  “Shut up, you fuckhead pansy.”

  “And you know what? Since you were busted, dad and I are just getting closer. Hard to take, isn’t it?” Rand said, edging closer to Allie. She felt his hand brush her side. “Here you’ve busted your ass all your life to please him, and I just had to… be.”

  Sidney shifted from foot to foot, swaying slightly. Len tried to make a sound. Sidney jammed the pistol harder against his chin. “You bastards,” he choked out. “I fucking hate all of you.”

  “I’ll bet you do,” Rand said. “We have everything, and you have nothing. Doesn’t that suck? So what is it, Finch?” He motioned at Len. “You want to take out this guy who’s trussed up like a rabbit, or you want a fair fight with someone who’s a little more of a challenge? What’s it going to be? I never figured you for a pussy.”

  Allie heard a strangled sob as Sidney flung Len to the ground. And it all came back. Go for the weakest spot.

  Allie lunged and stomped his crushed foot with her full weight. Sidney roared in agony. As he was going down, he turned the gun on Len, and Allie flung her body at him. The gun went off. Allie felt a sharp pain. Another gunshot exploded, and then nothing.

  ■ ■ ■

  It had to be only seconds, but it seemed like hours. She heard Sidney cry out, and then his weight as he fell across her feet. Then, confusion. It was always confusion. Sirens. People everywhere. She needed to get up.

  She felt arms pulling at her and someone saying, “Don’t move her.”

  She blinked her eyes open, expecting to see Rand’s chocolate brown ones staring at her, but it was Len. “Allie,” he said, almost shaking her, “are you OK?”

  She smiled up at him. “You aren’t dead,” she said.

  Someone pulled Len away. Hands yanked at her jacket. She heard the sound of fabric giving way as she tried to remember the sequence of events. A sting on her arm. That jolted her to awareness. Where was Rand?

  She must have cried out his name, because a moment later, his face swam into her vision. That’s when she realized she was crying. “Are you all right?”

  He knelt beside her. “Better than you, I’d say. I’m fine. Sidney’s dead.”

  Allie closed her eyes. She was glad… but…

  “You’re going to be OK.”

  Sheryl’s voice. Allie opened her eyes in time to see Sheryl push Rand out of the way. “I am?”

  “Yeah,” Sheryl said, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “He got you in the arm, but he missed the bone. It’ll be fine.”

  “Who shot Sidney?” As Allie watched, Rand stepped close to Sheryl and slipped Allie’s Glock into her pocket.

  Sheryl glanced down, then back at Allie. “Me. I shot him. With that gun I bought you as a gift.”

  Gift? That’s when Allie realized Cord had joined the party. She reached out with her good arm, and Rand helped her to a sitting position. It made her feel less vulnerable.

  She saw Sidney lying on the ground three feet away and averted her eyes, but not before the tears started. What was the matter with her? Was she crying for the man who’d kidnapped her brother? Who had tried to kill her more than once?

  Sheryl put her arm around Allie’s shoulder. “It’s all over, Allie. It’s finally over.”

  Allie nodded. For her it was, and for Sheryl, but Sidney Finch had left a trail of pain behind him. She thought of Sidney’s parents. Of Cord, who had struggled long and hard to turn Sidney into what he might have been. And she knew Sidney Finch would continue to inflict pain for a long time.

  Twenty-nine

  Teresa Finch yanked open the front door. “Why are you here again? Haven’t you hounded us enough? He’s not here.”

  “I know.”

  Something in Cord’s voice must have alerted her. She took a step back. Then, another. Wally appeared at her shoulder.

  “Cord?”

  “It’s bad, Wally.”

  “How bad?”

  Cord shook his head.

  Teresa bit her hand and screamed. Wally grabbed her against him as tears started down his face.

  Cord followed them into the house, into the living room. When Wally pulled his sobbing wife down on the couch, Cord perched on the edge of a chair and waited. There would be questions. There were always questions.

  Finally, Teresa’s sobs quieted some. Wally looked over.

  “That man he kidnapped?”

  “He’s OK.”

  “Anyone else hurt?”

  “He shot Allie Grainger, but she’s going to be fine.”

  Teresa’s head snapped up. “Her! She was the cause of it all. I wish she’d died.” Her voice rose to a scream. “I wish he’d killed her!”

  “Hush, Teresa,” Wally said. “You don’t mean that.” He looked at Cord. “I’d better call her doctor and get her something. Can I call you later about… arrangements?”

  “Sure.” He noticed a suitcase by the front door. “Are you going somewhere? Where can I contact you?”

  Wally looked from the suitcase and back to Cord. “Here,” Wally said, stroking his wife’s hair as she sobbed quietly against his chest. “Tessa will need me now. I’ll be right here.”

  ■ ■ ■

  “Ella Faye’s here?” Len’s voice was incredulous. He looked from Allie to Rand and back again. “Where? How long has she been here?”

  Rand had driven them to Allie’s house after a brief stop at the emergency room—or as brief as emergency room visits ever were. Allie had a bandage on her arm as big as Nebraska and a new prescription for pain meds. Shot twice in twenty-four hours. That was a new record for her.

  Spook was curled in her lap. Maybe life would get back to normal after all.

  “Allie?”

  She remembered Len’s question. How long had Ella Faye been in town? It seemed like forever. She thought back. “Since Saturday.”

  “Yesterday?”

  Was yesterday Saturday? Was it possible that so much had happened in one day?

  “Where is she?”

  “At the Hilton,” Allie said, dragging her mind back to the present. “I put her in your room.”

  Len glanced away. He appeared exhausted, but otherwise, he looked better. He’d showered and washed his hair, and Rand had loaned him a pair of jeans and a shirt. It surprised Allie that the men were so close to the same size. Rand had always seemed so much bigger.

  Allie looked at Rand now. “Would you take Spook for a little walk? He probably needs to go out.” Which was ridiculous because Sheryl had walked him when they got home before she left for work, but she didn’t want to have this conversation in front of Rand.

  Rand seemed to notice it immediately. Thank God for perceptive men.

  How to begin? “The credit card you gave the Hilton when you checked in was no good.”

  Len hung his head. “It was good when I gave it to them. Barely, but it was good. Ella Faye must have put more charges on it.”

  “Why do you put up with it?” She knew the question was inflammatory. She expected Len to explode, but when he looked up, his eyes were moist, his face haggard.

  “I love her, Allie. It’s as simple as that.” He scrubbed his hands down his face. “Mother asked me the same question—although in much stronger language. I gave her the same answer. She called me a patsy and a fool.” He shrugged. “Maybe she’s right, but you can’t choose who you love.”

  Maybe not, but Allie believed you could choose
what to do about it. She didn’t say that to Len. She doubted it would change the way he felt or the way he behaved.

  “How broke are you?”

  Len barked out a laugh. “Flat, as in teetering on bankruptcy. I have the house, but it’s mortgaged to the hilt. The car is leased, and I’m a month late on the payment. I— uh—” He had been staring at the floor. Now, he looked up at Allie. “I kind of borrowed some money from the firm.”

  Allie tried to hide her shock. Len was pilfering money from the law practice? “Does mother know?”

  “Are you kidding? She’d kill me.”

  Allie tried to make sense of it. Her successful, perfect brother, nearly bankrupt and dipping in company funds. “How did you let it get so bad?”

  Len looked away. “I wasn’t lucky enough to inherit a fortune,” he said, his voice bitter.

  That stopped Allie. Len was right. She had been lucky. When her inheritance came through, she had exactly fifty-six dollars in the bank. Her marriage was over. When she came back from Belgium, she might have been able to stay with her parents for a short while, but it would have been torture. Her only asset was her Jeep. She could have worked at the AJC—if they were hiring—but her starting salary would have been something like thirty-thousand a year if she was lucky. But instead of starting from scratch, she was handed a paid-for house on the beach and more than two million dollars, and she’d walked into a job that paid almost four times what she’d make at the AJC. Yes, she’d been lucky.

  She reached down on the floor beside the couch and picked up her purse. “How much do you owe the firm?”

  “Forty thousand.”

  “Forty—” She stopped. Water under the proverbial bridge.

  When she’d written the check, she handed it to Len. When he looked at it, he gasped. “It’s too much. I shouldn’t take this.”

  She noticed he didn’t say he wouldn’t take it. “It’s half what I inherited from Aunt Lou. It’s been sitting in the bank collecting interest. I want you to have it. It comes with conditions, though.”

  Len looked wary.

  “No more pressuring me to sell the house, and when I do, the proceeds are indisputably mine. So will the next house be mine.”