Backstretch Baby

by Bev Pettersen

  When Camila insisted on returning her money in exchange for getting her baby back, apparently Liam had exploded. Marcus hadn’t remained by the river that night and claimed he never thought Liam would kill her. Marcus had sounded truly shaken. Kept insisting he shouldn’t be blamed for her death. He’d known Liam was frustrated about the imploding baby business but hadn’t dreamed he was capable of such brutality.

  And Marcus could be telling the truth. He was too jumpy to meet Rick in person, opting to talk on the phone and claiming he wasn’t safe from Liam. Rick hadn’t been able to track down Marcus, not yet, so all he could do was listen.

  But Liam was easy to find. And learning details about the backstretch babies only stoked Rick’s anger. He despised anyone who exploited the weak, and Liam was a soulless predator. Little wonder people here thirsted for vengeance. He’d listen to Liam’s side of the story, but it was horrifying to imagine the families that had been ripped apart—the destruction, the despair, the heartache. And Camila.

  “Coffee’s fresh,” the guard said, opening the door and gesturing. “Come on in and wait. We even have some of those maple doughnuts, the kind with apple—”

  “Where’s your boss?”

  The guard’s smile faded. “Don’t know. But his Jeep’s here. Guess he walked somewhere.”

  Rick scanned the parking lot. Eve and her son were visiting the fun-loving guys in barn nineteen where they kept a friendly pig named Benji as their mascot. She’d be safe there. But if Liam cut across the east end, he’d only be a five-minute walk from the barns. And Rick didn’t want that man anywhere around women.

  “Can you call him?” he asked.

  The guard shook his head. “Tried. He’s not answering the radio or his cell. But I can send car six out. They’ll find him.” He reached across the desk for his mouthpiece.

  Rick dragged a hand over his jaw. He still wasn’t used to the smooth skin and quickly dropped his hand. “Don’t bother calling,” he said. “I’ll find him.”

  He didn’t want to spook Liam. Neither did he want any other guards around. According to Marcus—and to Rick’s instincts which he valued more—the rest of the guards were a decent bunch. But it would be safer, and infinitely more satisfying, to handle this alone.

  “I’ll come back later for that coffee,” Rick added.

  “Sure thing,” the guard said, his amiable smile returning.

  Rick’s phone pinged, announcing an incoming text. He pulled it out and scanned the screen. And for a moment he quit breathing.

  Help, was all Eve had written.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  Rick cranked the throttle, roaring the motorcycle down a straight stretch. His heart pounded with terror, matching the pulsing throb of the bike. For Eve to ask for help, so succinctly, she had to be desperate. And his return call had gone straight to voice mail. She only turned her phone off when she was riding.

  The paved drive split. He hesitated, not sure if she was still at the pig barn or walking back to the RV. He swerved left, deciding if she were close to the main barns she wouldn’t be alone. Best to backtrack from the RV and check the walkway.

  Probably there was no reason to panic. Maybe a horse was loose, or sick, or her car wouldn’t start. Or maybe Joey had fallen off the swing—that tire should have been hung another inch lower—and knocked out a tooth.

  But his sweating palms tightened around the rubber handles. Because Eve never asked for help. She squared her shoulders and fought her own battles. That gritty courage was one of the reasons he loved her.

  And he’d left her alone with a killer on the grounds, a volatile sociopath who blamed her for rallying the women.

  He blasted his bike around the last corner, craning to see the RV. The barn.

  And then such a fierce pain rocked him, it felt like his gut had been lanced. His bike was making weird noises and it took several seconds to realize the moans were coming from him. He’d seen blood and carnage before, but when he spotted Eve’s twisted form inching over the dirt, the sounds escaping his throat were inhuman.

  He vaulted off, letting his cherished bike crash to the ground, the engine still running. Dropped in the dirt beside her, pressing 9-1-1 even as he called her name.

  She barely looked at him. Kept crawling toward the barn.

  “Don’t move,” he said, his voice rough with fear. He ached to touch her, wanted to stretch out on the ground and hold her and reassure himself that she was alive.

  But he spoke crisply on the phone, detailing the situation, even as he assessed her injuries. Broken leg, bruised neck, shocked and traumatized. Blood on the mouth, possible broken ribs.

  She needed to stay still so he could take her vitals. Luckily there was an ambulance on the grounds. First responders would be here in minutes.

  But she wouldn’t stop crawling. She kept shaking her head, even during his second call to the police. Tears stained her cheeks and the red welt on her forehead stood out in stark contrast to her bloodless face.

  “No police,” she repeated, her voice hoarse and whisper thin. “It’s Liam.”

  “We know.” Rick lowered the phone. “Police are blocking off the area now. They’ll catch him. I’m going to get you a blanket.”

  “But he has Joey. And he said no police. They went through the path. I have to get him.”

  She dug her nails into the dirt and pulled herself another foot closer to the barn. And it was then he saw the serrated bread knife clutched in her hand.

  “Don’t move, Eve.” He placed a knee on the ground in front of her, blocking her progress.

  “But I need a crutch. I have to get Joey.”

  “Your leg is broken. And maybe your collarbone, some ribs—” His voice broke, overcome with guilt, fear and a white-hot rage.

  “Then you get him,” she said. “You go for me.”

  He shook his head, not wanting to leave her side. “You’re hurt. I’ll wait until the ambulance comes.”

  “No!” Her face twisted with anguish. “Liam killed Camila. He’ll hurt Joey.”

  “Police will cordon off the area around the farmhouse. They’ll bring in a negotiator. They’re equipped for this.”

  She stared up at him, her eyes beseeching. “But Joey can’t be with that man.”

  He shook his head, the movement in sync with the fresh helplessness worming through his gut. He wasn’t the best choice for a hostage situation. And there was no way he’d risk going up that hill, and quite possibly losing Joey.

  Liam was unhinged. If it went south, she’d hate him forever.

  “You get him.” Her voice firmed. “Scott says you’re his best man. Go, bring him back.”

  But still Rick shook his head. “It’s better if the police do it. Safer.”

  She reached out and gripped his hand. And even though the movement must have hurt, she gave him a nod full of nothing but confidence. “I know you can do this,” she said, her voice fierce. “Get him for me. Please. I’ll wait here until you come back.”

  A muscle spasmed in his jaw.

  “Please, Rick,” she whispered.

  “All right,” he said. “I’ll get him.”

  He rose and yanked his Harley upright. Thrust his leg over the seat and gunned it toward the woods.

  The path was narrow, barely wide enough for a single person but he bulled through, weaving in and out of trees and bouncing over exposed roots. He rode the bike like it was stolen, not caring about the polish or the shocks or the mirror that smashed the side of a gnarly tree and now hung uselessly.

  He couldn’t be more than ten minutes behind them, judging from the time of Eve’s text. And he’d make up ground on the powerful bike.

  He burst from the trees and throttled the bike even higher, heading for the hole beneath the chain link fence. The gap beneath the fence was surrounded by scuff marks. But the hill was bare, empty of everything except faded grass, their tips bleached to a familiar bone white.

  He dropped his bike, barely slowing as he la
unched himself beneath the gap. A twisted link grabbed his back and he heard the rip of his shirt, felt the tear of skin. But it only spurred him. He could move a lot faster than most men, and Liam was carrying a forty-pound boy. Surely he could catch them.

  He sprinted up the hill, fueled by adrenaline and a soul-sucking fear. A fear he hadn’t faced since Ben. Joey will be okay, he told himself, desperate for reassurance. There was no reason for Liam to hurt the boy, to hide that little body beneath the dank earth.

  Liam didn’t even know anyone was coming.

  He prayed the police would remain silent. Right now, Liam was probably confident of his escape. But if he heard wailing sirens, he’d realize the road below the farmhouse was blocked. He’d be cornered like a rat, with a rabid hatred for Eve and nothing to lose.

  Rick’s lungs were straining and his legs ached, but he didn’t slow his ground-eating climb. Not until he reached the crest of the hill. He forced himself to stop and listen, taking precious seconds to picture the layout.

  The farmhouse was approximately a hundred feet below, surrounded by a wide sweeping drive. Liam probably had his personal vehicle stashed there. No doubt, he’d been the one who dropped the beer cap. It was the perfect vantage point for a stalker. He’d known the best times to creep down to Eve’s barn and wreak havoc.

  Rick peered over the rim. The entire area was deathly still, and for a moment he feared he was too late. But possibly Liam had stashed Joey in a bedroom, or the cellar…or somewhere else.

  He gave his head a shake. Couldn’t let himself be weakened by thoughts of dirt and death and another innocent boy. Had to stay positive. Focused. Do his job.

  I am going to find this kid in time.

  But now his entire body was shaking, his muscles spasming with fear, and it had nothing to do with his frantic climb up the hill.

  He took a deep breath, struggling to calm himself, then rose and eased toward the farmhouse.

  A rusty lock hung on the front door, forlorn and caked with cobwebs. Brittle boards covered the windows. The porch was thick with undisturbed dust. He was too late. Obviously Joey wasn’t stashed inside.

  From the back of the house a car door clicked. Then a voice rumbled.

  He edged around the side of the house, pressing against the weathered wood, not sure if he was using the house for cover or if it was holding him up. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Liam was a snake. If he spotted Rick, the first thing he’d do would be to point the revolver at Joey. And threaten to shoot the kid.

  He swallowed, hating the trembling in his body that he was powerless to control. He shouldn’t even be here. It would be impossible to free Joey safely. The boy could end up shot, merely because of Liam’s volatility.

  At this point, it was best to wait for the police. They had negotiators who were better able to extract hostages. He could call and coordinate a rescue from his vantage point. They’d definitely order him to stand back. Which was what he wanted too.

  He reached for the phone in his pocket then pressed back against the wall, struggling with his sense of worthlessness. And his indecision. But the last time he’d let orders overrule his instincts, Ben had been murdered.

  Liam’s curt voice sounded again, and Rick couldn’t resist inching forward and peering around the corner.

  A Nissan Maxima was parked behind the house, the nose of the sedan pointing toward the road. The trunk gaped open. Liam’s hand was clamped around Joey’s neck. The man was still in his khaki uniform, a gunbelt buckled around his hips.

  Twenty-five feet away, Rick estimated. Much too far. He couldn’t do this.

  Joey looked up, his eyes widening. Rick forced a reassuring nod and raised a finger to his lips just as Liam scooped up the boy. Rick expected Joey to call out, anybody would, but the boy never said a word. He just stared with hopeful eyes. Eve’s eyes.

  “Stay quiet, kid,” Liam said, stuffing Joey into the trunk. “Or you’ll probably suffocate.”

  He slammed the trunk with a satisfied grunt.

  Rick stiffened. The boy wouldn’t last more than a few hours in the sweltering trunk. And Liam knew it. He probably intended to ditch the car and kid, steal a vehicle and flee to Mexico.

  On the positive side, Joey was safe in the trunk, out of Liam’s reach. Now it was just between the two men.

  He steadied his breathing, drew his knife from his boot and stepped out.

  Liam wheeled in alarm, nostrils flaring. His eyes shot to Rick, then beyond, scanning the sides of the house, the empty hilltop. The alarm on his face disappeared, replaced with smug satisfaction.

  “Looks like you’re alone,” Liam said.

  Rick stepped closer, gauging the distance. Twenty feet now. He needed fourteen.

  Liam unsnapped his holster.

  “Better not,” Rick said, moving forward with slow but deceptively long strides.

  Liam’s lip curled over his teeth in a feral grin. “Ever heard the joke about the idiot who brought a knife to a gunfight? Well you’re the fool—”

  He was still sneering when Rick whipped his knife. The man’s cocky smile changed to a yowl of pain. His gun barely cleared his holster before it thudded harmlessly to the gravel.

  “Goddamn.” Liam whimpered, clasping his shoulder and staring down in horror.

  Rick glided forward. He wrapped one hand around Liam’s throat, the other around his shoulder, holding the man still while he pulled out his knife. It was his favorite, good metal, well balanced, and it fit perfectly in his hand.

  He wiped the blade on Liam’s khaki uniform, ignoring the man’s shriek. Then replaced it in his boot sheath.

  “Sonofabitch.” Liam groaned, clutching his bloodied shoulder. “Thought you were supposed to leave it in. Not pull them out.”

  “Then they just get in the way,” Rick said. “I don’t want to chip it. Break the tip.”

  Liam stared, uncomprehending, until Rick let loose with a flurry of fists. The guard was in bodybuilder shape, his stomach flat and knuckle hard. So Rick worked him over from the sides, thinking of Camila, the innocent babies, the countless families destroyed. But most of all, he thought of Eve.

  Liam didn’t have much bottom. He kept dropping, trying to curl like a whipped rat, and that only angered Rick more.

  He yanked Liam up and propped him against the hood. The man begged and blubbered like a baby, even though Rick took considerable care to stay away from his reddening shoulder.

  “Those were for Camila,” Rick said, his mouth clenched. “Need a couple more, for what you did to Eve.” He draped Liam’s leg against the bumper then eased back to line it up.

  “God, no.” Liam whimpered, twisting away. “Don’t break it.”

  He picked Liam up by the shoulders and repositioned him against the bumper. “If you’re going to last in prison,” he said, shaking his head, “you’ll have to toughen up. Eve and her kid are braver—” He paused, his gaze shooting toward the trunk.

  “Don’t move,” he said, cuffing Liam’s head.

  He hurried around to the back of the car.

  “Joey,” he said softly. “It’s Rick, your mom’s friend. Everything’s okay out here. We’re just talking. I’m going to open the trunk now.”

  He clicked it open. Joey blinked up, his face drenched with sweat. Tear tracks smudged his cheeks. But the boy didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t move a muscle.

  “It’s okay,” Rick said, reaching in and scooping him out of the stifling trunk. He knew he shouldn’t touch him, should let the boy come to him. But he couldn’t stand seeing Joey curled in that cramped space. It reminded him too much of being buried. Like the dead.

  “You’re okay,” he said, his throat so tight the words hurt. “You’re safe now.”

  Joey remained stiff and unspeaking.

  “You’re safe now,” Rick repeated.

  “I know.” Joey’s voice was a reed-thin whisper. “Because you saved me.” He sniffled once, as if trying to be stoic. Then his little face crumbled. He rea
ched up and wrapped his arms around Rick’s neck, sobbing and wailing and burrowing his head into Rick’s chest.

  Rick’s own face felt warped, his chest so twisted with relief he could scarcely breathe. But this was a different feeling from usual, when his lungs didn’t work and it felt like he was suffocating. On the other side of the car, Liam was groaning but the sounds faded, the man no longer important.

  It was just Rick and the boy now, both clutching each other so tightly it was hard to know who was doing the actual holding. The sun beat down from a brilliant blue canopy and an eagle floated overhead, far removed from their struggles. The place was actually quite serene, no sound of sirens.

  Police would be here soon though. And the aftermath would be brutal, with statements and recordings and prolonged interviews. And he’d deal with that, along with his reasons for going in. But right now he didn’t want to let Joey go. Even punishing Liam no longer mattered.

  Joey’s crying turned to sniffs. “That man hurt my mom. It’s mean to h-hit.”

  “Yes, but she’ll be okay.” Rick squeezed his eyes shut, wishing now he hadn’t given Liam such a thrashing. And his regrets had nothing to do with the police or possible liability, and everything to do with scaring Joey.

  The boy had been in the trunk. He hadn’t seen anything but unfortunately Liam had been rather vocal, running the gauntlet from moaning to cursing to crying. And the sound of smacking flesh was unmistakable. Joey already didn’t like Rick. No doubt he’d be even more terrified. Any second now he’d shrink away.

  The kid was quiet for a moment.

  Then, “I don’t think you’re mean anymore,” Joey whispered, his voice muffled against Rick’s shirt.

  Rick swallowed.

  “I know grownups sometimes talk cross,” Joey went on. “So it’s okay if you come for supper. And talk mean.”

  “Sorry,” Rick said, his voice thick. “I just worry about people…about children. I’ll work on that, okay?”