A knock on the front door startled her.
Amy scowled. “Don’t any of you move.” She aimed the gun at the youngest girl. “You so much as breathe loud and she gets one to the head.”
They stood silently in the laundry room.
The doorbell rang.
“If you don’t go see about it, whoever it is might call the police. Do you want the cops here? They’ll ruin our trip.” If Cosette could get Amy to the door, she might have a chance to free the hostages, or at the very least, sneak the little ones some water. “Neighbors are nosy. Go put it to rest.”
Growling, Amy stomped through the kitchen, and Cosette knelt and grabbed the ties that bound the woman to the louvered laundry doors. She grunted and used her head to point to her children.
Get them out first. Of course. That was a real mother’s love. Sacrifice.
Cosette worked on untying the teenage girl as Amy chatted with a woman at the front door. Keep her talking, lady. Keep her talking. The harder she tried to undo the knots, the more Cosette fumbled. Finally, she got the teen’s hands free. The girl ungagged herself and went to work untying her ankles, while Cosette quietly worked to release one of the younger children. Then together they untied the other one.
Freedom!
“Go out the side door and get help. Tell them to call the police, and Wilder Flynn in Atlanta. Can you remember that?” Cosette said as she worked on the mom’s ties. They were tighter. Stronger.
They’d been traumatized and might forget. But the teen nodded frantically.
“Mommy!”
Amy was coming!
The girl’s eyes widened and one of her sisters cried. The teen herded them out the side door to the backyard. No time to finish untying the mom. Cosette had to stall Amy. Give the girls a fighting chance.
When Amy discovered they’d gotten loose, that Cosette had done it...she didn’t want to think about the consequences. Not for her. Not for the woman sitting on the floor staring at the door, her best chance at freedom, her hope that her children would live.
Cosette hurried from the laundry room into the kitchen. “Who was it?”
“A neighbor. Don’t I look like a good house sitter? I told her the Carsons had to go out of town. Family emergency.” She held up brownies. “Apparently, Mrs. Jones bakes the kids treats from time to time. Said I could keep them and the kids could eat them when they get home.” She carried them to the kitchen counter. “They look store-bought to me. Whatever. You want one?”
“No, thank you. I remembered I might get cold on the cruise. That night air. I didn’t pack a hoodie. Did you? Let’s go check. I don’t want you to catch a cold.”
Amy studied her. Could she hear her heart pounding? See the lies in her eyes?
She pulled the gun, pointed it at Cosette. “In the laundry room. Now.”
No!
Amy saw the girls were missing, then glanced out the open door.
They were trying to unlock the back gate. One was climbing up the six-foot fence.
No!
Amy’s face turned two shades of red. “How. Dare. You!” She lunged forward.
Cosette raised her hand to protect herself. “Amy, don’t!” Fear drew her fist back to fight, but Amy was too quick.
The butt of the gun came down on her head.
* * *
Wilder and his team had flown in to New Orleans just as day gave way to night.
They met Carrington down the street from Amy’s childhood home. Her hair was longer, blonder. She didn’t bother with greetings or niceties. He admired that about her. All business. She’d called Wilder while they were on the plane and left a message to let him know she’d done a search on the address.
Family of five. Where were they? Dread pooled in Wilder’s gut. He hoped they were out of town.
After gathering necessary information, Carrington had delivered brownies to the house. Amy had answered. Carrington didn’t see Cosette or the family, but the car parked in the drive was registered to the man of the house. According to her, nothing seemed out of place or disturbed. Amy didn’t seem terribly agitated.
But the PI hadn’t been able to see that Cosette was safe, and that made Wilder nervous. What if he was too late? He needed to get to her now. He needed...some help. His team had rallied around him. Aided him. But even so, he was calling the shots. Making the moves. Carving out the paths.
A verse from Proverbs that Wilder had learned at a young age came to mind: Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct thy paths.
He’d been relying on himself for so long. Leaning on his own understanding—his military training, life experience, books—but he’d never truly relied on God. Not as a child. Not as someone who needed guidance. He’d thought he’d been guiding himself pretty well. But that wasn’t true.
He’d acknowledged God as his heavenly Father. Acknowledged Jesus as his Savior, but then Wilder had drawn the line. He didn’t even know when it had happened. It had been a slow fade. Lord, forgive me. I can’t do this alone. I’m a mess. Please direct our paths.
All these years, he’d chalked up his gut feelings to a sixth sense of sorts. But the truth was it had been the guidance of the Lord. The gift of discernment that came from God. Please forgive me. I haven’t even acknowledged all the times You’ve led me safely through missions. All the times You’ve guided my hand at my job. In my life. I’ve given myself the glory. Lord, I’m sorry.
He’d prayed days earlier, but the truth was he’d done it because he was supposed to. He hadn’t really felt it. Not until now. Peace settled over him. Calmed his jumpy nerves. When was the last time he’d felt this kind of peace? He didn’t even know. Renewed strength came in a burst. No longer was he carrying everyone. God was carrying them all, Wilder included.
“...and other than that, nothing new since we last talked,” Carrington said and squeezed into the back seat of their rental SUV. “Blinds are all closed. It’s been quiet. Game plan?” she asked.
“In. Out. No one the wiser.” That had been the plan in Istanbul, too, when Allie had died. But this time, Wilder wasn’t looking to himself to control everything—to control life and death. He’d do his very best as a man and leave the rest to God.
“You want me to pray?” Beckett asked.
For once, Wilder would. He would acknowledge in his own voice who had this. It wasn’t him. “I’ll do it.” He bowed his head and prayed for everyone’s safety and no causalities. Everyone said amen.
“We go in small numbers. Stealth,” Wilder said. They were trained to be invisible. If they didn’t want to be seen, they wouldn’t be. “Things go sideways, then we involve the police with all the lights and fanfare. But let’s not need them until this is over and an arrest has to be made. We take Amy alive. No fatalities unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
Everyone agreed.
Only Wheezer remained quiet. He never came out for fieldwork, but he had a personal investment and Wilder couldn’t deny him. Plus despite being stuck at a desk 24/7, he was a good shot—not that Wilder believed for a second he’d take the shot if he needed to.
“I’m going to make one pass, so everyone look fast and thoroughly.” Wilder drove through the cove.
“All’s quiet in the hood,” Evan said. “Lights on in the house next door, but dim.”
Beckett grunted. “Car in the drive. Just like you said, Carrington.”
“No sign of movement inside,” Shepherd noted.
“The light has gone on and off a few times in that window with the stained glass,” Carrington murmured. “I assume it’s a bathroom. It flicked on about ten minutes or so ago.”
Wilder drove back down and two streets over, then parked on the side of the road.
“Jody, Evan, Wheezer. Take the back of the
house. Beck and Carrington will go with me to the front. Shep, you keep an eye out in case she’s in there and they run. Remember, we’re shadows.”
“Let’s dance then,” Shep muttered and they hustled like the wind, keeping to the dark, moving with speed and silence as they’d been trained. No one would see them coming.
Not even Amy.
* * *
Cold. So cold. Cosette shivered and gasped. Water seeped into her mouth. She opened her eyes. She was lying in a large bathtub as if she were about to take a luxury soak, only she was fully clothed, hands tied behind her back, feet bound and knotted to the faucet, which was running freezing cold water.
Panic sent her jolting and water splashed up her nose. She coughed and wriggled her hands, trying to free herself. Another streak of fear shot through her. Had Amy killed the remaining hostages? Cosette raised her chin and twisted against the ropes on her wrists, but kept slipping under the water, unable to get any traction with her feet, since they were out of the tub and bound. Was Amy going to drown her here?
She squeezed her eyes shut. Her shivers slowed as the cold water numbed her. This couldn’t be how she’d die. Tears streaked her cheeks and she hiccupped. “I tried, God.” She’d tried to save the family downstairs and failed. So many people dead because of her.
And now she was going to die.
Alone.
Wasn’t that how she’d wanted it? A life alone. To belong to no one but herself. She’d built a hedge around her heart from Wilder. And now she’d gotten exactly what she wanted.
But it wasn’t what she wanted at all, and she’d never get the chance to try and rectify it.
The words she’d slung at him now sliced at her.
That he was obsessive. Controlling. Intrusive.
But he was also relentless—just like Jody said. He was confident and a take-charge man, focused on the safety and protection of others. And he was intrusive because he cared. But he also knew how to give Cosette space. To acquiesce to the boundaries she’d placed on him.
Did it matter that he didn’t share every little secret in his past? She hadn’t. She was a hypocrite, and there was no chance of her ever getting to make things right.
She’d die, and he’d live never knowing the truth.
That she loved him. No matter how hard she’d tried to convince herself that she didn’t. That he’d end up hurting her. That he was like all the others. Still, she’d fallen for him.
And hurt him. Those words... She’d seen the look on his face. Known that she’d cut him.
She couldn’t even ask for his forgiveness for that.
And she’d never forgiven her father. “God, forgive me.” She should have. She should have bent her knee to the Lord and surrendered to what He’d asked of her. She’d been stubborn, willful, and in this moment, it all seemed so small.
Dad might never know it, but she could forgive him in her heart. Mom would understand. She was in heaven, where things were perfect. No pain. No regrets. No anger or sorrow. Just peace and happiness in the light of Jesus. Why hadn’t Cosette seen it before?
Because she hadn’t been about to die. She’d thought she had time. But time was short. “Dad,” she cried and felt a warmth flow inside her, “I...forgive you.”
Something like heavy jagged bricks lifted from her heart. She cried. She missed Mama—though she’d see her soon. But she also cried with relief. The tight, coiled ball of hatred and bitterness had been released and for once she felt like she could breathe. She hadn’t even known she wasn’t taking deep, full breaths. She’d been living with it so long it had become a part of her, the blame and lack of forgiveness.
Then she cried for Wilder. For all they could have been if they weren’t so full of pride and fear. They claimed to be brave, but when the most important thing in the world was at stake—love—they were cowards. Both of them.
Amy entered the room, her dark eyes full of venom. She turned off the faucet. “You are a bad, bad mommy. And you’re gonna get what you deserve.”
She knelt and retrieved a hair dryer from under the sink.
Cosette’s shivers resumed. Terror rattled her bones.
Amy plugged in the dryer.
She hadn’t witnessed her mom’s suicide.
At eight years old, she’d murdered her own mother. She was going to do it again. To Cosette.
“Amy, please. Think about this. We’ll lose the cruise if you do this.”
“I gave you plenty of chances to be a good mommy. I tried to make you love me. I thought you did. But you don’t. You care more about those stupid people downstairs than you do me! Your own daughter!”
Cosette didn’t dare inquire about the hostages. If they were alive, it could get them killed.
She was going to die at the hands of a homicidal sociopath who believed Cosette belonged to her. The irony coiled around her lungs and squeezed like a vise until she couldn’t breathe. She’d been looking to Wilder to save her, protect her. But that was too much to put on him. He was just a man. She truly was alone, with no one to rely on but God, and she should have been looking to Him all along. If she’d run to God all those times she hurt, instead of to men who couldn’t fill those empty places inside her—they only added to her scars—she might not be here. But she couldn’t look back.
God, forgive me. I look to You to save me. Somehow. Some way. Save me. Fresh tears fell. Because I know I don’t belong to myself. I belong to You. I trust You. No matter what.
“You should have known better! Why would you do that?”
“Amy, listen. It’s just you and me. Please, don’t do this.”
“You never pay me attention. You want everybody but me. You’re going to get what you deserve!” She turned on the hair dryer and hovered over the tub.
“Give me another chance, Amy,” Cosette pleaded.
“I gave you chances!”
“Just one more!”
Suddenly, the door burst open. Cosette shrieked.
Amy held the hair dryer lower.
Wilder! Thank You, God. Thank You for sending Wilder. How had he found her? She’d thought all was lost. But here he was, dressed in black, gun aimed at Amy and fire in his eyes. “Cosette, you okay?”
She was in a tub full of cold water with a running hair dryer a foot away. No. She was not. “Yes.”
“You!” Amy screamed. “I hate you. You always take her away from me. Well, nobody’s gonna have her now.”
“Amy...” Wheezer approached behind Wilder’s shoulder. Slowly. Softly “You don’t want to do this.”
She threw her head back and laughed. “Look at you. All puppy-dog-eyed and hoping I’ll do as you ask because I love you.” She cackled again. “I don’t love you.”
Oh, Wheezer. Humiliation colored his cheeks.
Wilder tossed a glance to the electrical outlet and back to the hair dryer humming on full blast, as if to gauge whether he could unplug it in time.
No way. The second he moved, she’d drop it. The truth was in her eyes. There would be no negotiating. Wilder seemed to know it, judging by the look on his face. He glanced at Cosette and the dryer. His finger slowly moved toward the trigger, but he hesitated. He knew what Cosette did: that if he dropped Amy with a bullet, the dryer would land in the tub.
She was looking at the man she loved—a full beard, shaggy hair she adored—and this was where it was going to end.
Wilder would blame himself for her death.
Like he did Alan’s... The fact suddenly dawned on her. And like he did Allie’s—he must have had some part in that to feel responsible... And he couldn’t bear to admit it out loud. That’s why he refused therapy sessions. He didn’t want to reveal what he’d consider weakness.
What would he hold on to in order to stay connected with her?
“Beck,” Wilder whispered, “send the owl to the tower
.”
She didn’t see Beckett, but knew he was there somewhere in the hallway. She also knew what that command meant. Wilder was sending Shepherd up on a roof with a sniper rifle as backup if things went south.
He said he’d go to whatever lengths necessary and he’d deem this necessary. It probably was, but Cosette had seen enough death. Too much blood. Too much loss.
She swallowed and inhaled deeply.
“Wilder, I want you to leave,” Cosette said.
He kept his sight trained on Amy, but a brief cloud of confusion fogged his eyes. “No can do, darlin’.”
“I’m not your darlin’,” she snapped. This wasn’t going to go well. So she’d say what she had to and hold it together the best she could. “I never said I needed to be rescued. You always think you have to try and save me.” She glanced at Amy, who had the same cloud of confusion on her face. “You don’t own me. I don’t belong to you.” But she wanted to. To have his back. She already had, when she’d pulled him from the stable. And he had hers.
He grimaced.
Come on, Wilder. Please understand me.
“Do you not know me at all?” she asked.
That had his attention and he slowly slid a glance her way.
That’s right, we say it all the time. But you do know me. Hear my heart.
“I don’t love you. I don’t want to be with you.”
He didn’t move. Didn’t say a word, but something in his eyes danced. “I understand.”
What she wouldn’t give to hear him say he loved her. What she wouldn’t give to be in his arms right now. Safe. Warm. What she wouldn’t give to feel his lips on hers one last time.
Amy lowered the dryer even more.
Cosette jerked. “I am here with my daughter.”
The young woman paused and slightly shifted.
“She’s all I care about. So please go.”
Amy glanced at Cosette. “Mommy, do you mean that? You’d make him leave?”
“Of course,” Cosette said, holding back tears. “I don’t love him. I don’t want to be his partner. Have his back. Rely on him. I don’t want to have babies with him or grow old with him.”
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