Please, God, don’t let him get away,” Jessie prayed, picking herself up off the ground.
She peered down the road in the direction the two trucks had disappeared. Defeat and helplessness weighed heavily. Her world hadn’t just gone crazy; it was crumbling into a million pieces.
Wiping tears away with the back of her hand, she trudged into the house. Her head pounded, and her chest ached. Her body was now encased in the concrete of hopelessness instead of buzzing with the adrenaline of panic. This nightmare continued to worsen, not improve. Was it ever going to end?
When she picked up the kitchen phone to call the cops, she paused. Nate had said that he and Uncle Chad would call after they got Hal tied up in the house. Why hadn’t he wanted her to call immediately? Why? Why? Why? Rubbing her forehead, she scrunched her eyes shut and forced herself to push aside the day’s traumatic events and to concentrate.
Moments later, Nate’s reason hit her. Hard. Oh my God. Still gripping the phone, she dropped onto a kitchen chair.
Thank God for Nate’s foresight. He knew that once they called the sheriff’s station, the deputies would arrive at the house with a million questions. She, Nate, and Uncle Chad needed to decide beforehand what they were willing to disclose. Obviously, they’d report Hal’s confession to killing Molly, but what about where they’d found him, what he’d been doing, or how they’d known to look in the bomb shelter? She groaned at the thought of revealing the horrible truth.
She glanced toward the back door. Now things had changed because her stepdad had gotten away. But surely Nate and Chad could catch Hal in his old truck. And if they needed help, didn’t it make more sense for them to call the cops?
As Jessie hung up the phone, she made her decision. She’d wait an hour. Only one hour. If she didn’t hear from her brother and uncle by then, she would call the cops. Heaven help me.
Then she hurried into the bedroom to check on Callie. Her little angel still slept soundly. In an ironic way, her drugged sleep was a blessing because she didn’t rouse when Jessie carefully dressed her in a nightgown. What would Callie have thought if she’d woken up naked?
Convinced her daughter would be all right alone for a few minutes, Jessie rushed out to the Camry. She hoped against hope that her purse was inside, but honestly, she couldn’t recall leaving the attorney’s office with it. Her life was beginning to blur.
She sighed with relief when she spotted her bag on the passenger side floorboard. She retrieved it and pulled her keys from the ignition where Nate had left them. After locking the car, she stared down the road again, listening, hoping for the sound of a vehicle. But only the early symphony of crickets reached her ears.
Back inside, she dug out her cell. The battery was totally drained. After setting the phone up on the kitchen counter to charge, she noticed she had several messages and missed calls, but she was too exhausted to care. They could wait; Callie couldn’t. Jessie needed to be with her daughter. Not that Callie needed her; it was the other way around.
Battling exhaustion and despair, she climbed into bed beside her little girl to hold her close until Nate, Uncle Chad, and Hal returned. Or until a fateful hour had passed.
* * *
Finally, traffic was moving. Sean had been stuck on I-15 and then on the long detour for three hours. Now he was flying toward Ramona on Highway 67.
Why wasn’t Jess answering her phone? Was it dead? Had she turned it off? Had something happened?
The last question raised the hair on his nape.
Knowing about Hallelujah’s perverted photos made him damn scared for Jess and Callie. And while he’d sat paralyzed on the freeway, he’d had plenty of time to speculate on possible scenarios connecting Hal’s child pornography activities with Molly’s disappearance. None of them good. The shit just kept getting deeper and deeper.
His cell rang, and he grabbed it from the passenger seat. “What ya got, Stone? Who’s RAU?”
“Ronald Arthur Usborne.”
“Your FBI contact caved?”
“Nope. Figured it out myself. I worked my way through the list of escapee reports we made. Found a few with the right initials. One RAU was from Texas. Remember, you thought Hal’s accent might be Texan. So that fits. And the asshole was incarcerated for the production and interstate sales of child pornography. Bingo.”
“No murder charges or convictions?”
“No. But self-preservation kicks in when you’re cornered.”
“Damn right.”
“How do you want to play this, Burke?”
“I need to talk to Jess first. But I don’t want to give Hal…er…Ronald up to the feds before we know for sure whether he’s responsible for Molly’s…disappearance.”
“Agreed. I’ll keep ignoring my FBI guy’s calls.”
Sean sighed and slid the phone into his pocket. Poor Jess. She’s going to end up losing both parents.
* * *
The pounding and buzzing in her dream was damn annoying. Jessie yawned and rolled over. Then her eyes popped open, and all the horrible details of the day came flooding back. She groaned. At least Callie was here, safe, next to her.
The noise started again, proving it wasn’t just a dream.
What the…? Was it Nate and Uncle Chad with Hal?
Why didn’t one of them open the door with his key? Did they have Hal? Maybe they couldn’t risk using their keys if they were restraining him.
Jessie jumped out of bed. Oh God, I didn’t mean to fall asleep. But she obviously had because she could see through the bedroom window that night was already falling. How long had she slept? Had poor Nate and Uncle Chad been chasing Hal all this time?
The pounding and buzzing resumed as she pulled the bedroom door closed behind her. Envisioning her brother and uncle struggling with her stepdad, she ran down the hallway to the living room and reached for the doorknob.
“Open the door, bitch! I want my daughter.”
Jessie gasped. Drake. She yanked her hand back as though burned and backed away from the door.
“I know you’re in there. Open up or I’ll break down the damn door,” Drake yelled.
A louder thump suggested he’d switched from hammering with his fists to ramming with his body.
Do something, her paralyzed brain screamed. Lock myself and Callie in the bedroom? Call the sheriff? Call Luke? Do I have time? No, help can’t get here fast enough.
Another wham against the door sent her flying to the master bedroom closet. When her hand closed around the handgun on the shelf, her gut clenched. Please, God, don’t let me have to use this.
“Callie, honey, it’s your daddy. I want to see you, but Mommy won’t let me. Tell her to open the door,” Drake was shouting when she ran back into the living room.
“Go away, Drake. Callie’s sleeping. She doesn’t want to see you anyway,” Jessie called, pressing her back against the door.
“You better be nice to me, bitch, or I’ll take her away permanently.” He emphasized his threat with another assault on the door. “I’m coming in whether you like it or not.” The door shuddered again.
“Stop, Drake. I…I have a gun.”
“So do I,” he sneered.
Something cracked when he hit the wooden door again. The impact jolted Jessie.
She took several steps away from the door and aimed the gun. The pistol shook in her hands. “I’m warning you. Go away.”
“Or what? You’re going to shoot me?” Drake’s laugh was an ugly bark.
“If she doesn’t, I will,” came another male voice, calm but steely. “Move away from the door, Hargrove. Keep your hands where I can see them.”
Jessie’s fear evaporated at the sound of Sean’s voice. Her knees went weak with relief. She lowered the gun and sank onto the couch.
“Don’t kid yourself, Jessica. This fight isn’t over. You know I don’t give up until I get what I want. My daughter is not going to live in a house where people go missing.”
Jessie whimpered. If that was true, what would Drake do if he discovered Callie had been living with a man who took pornographic pictures of her? She didn’t have to speculate. She knew. With the court’s blessing, her ex would take her daughter away…forever. And that would be more unbearable than losing her mother.
An epiphany struck like a bolt of lightning. Drake Hargrove must never know about the pictures. Correction: No one could ever know what her stepdad had done to her and Callie.
But she’d fight to her last breath to be sure he was convicted of killing her mother. There could be consequences to hiding Hal’s other crime, but Jessie’s brain was too fried to figure them out. She just couldn’t sacrifice Callie to ensure Hal’s punishment.
The men’s angry voices grew fainter, and soon she heard a car engine. Tires squealed, and a distinct “Fuck you!” reached her ears.
Moments later, Sean knocked softly on the door. “Jess, he’s gone. Let me in.”
Relief surged through her. She hurried to the door and opened it.
After one last look at Drake’s receding vehicle, Sean stepped inside and locked the door behind him. He reached for Jessie, but his gaze dropped to her hand.
She looked down at the gun she’d forgotten she was still holding.
Gently, Sean took it from her, set the safety, and shoved it in his waistband next to his Glock. He led her to the couch and pulled her down onto his lap. Cocooning her in his arms, he rocked her for several minutes.
She pressed her head against his muscular chest. He felt so strong, so solid. Like a rock. Too bad he couldn’t be her rock.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Not really. I don’t know whether I’ll really be okay ever again.”
He tightened his embrace. “Sure you will.” He glanced toward the hallway and then the kitchen. “Where’s Callie?”
“Sleeping.”
“Is…Hal here?”
She tensed. “No.”
“Where is he?”
“I…uh…don’t know.” She hoped she sounded nonchalant even though her insides were roiling.
Sean opened his mouth as if to ask another question, but a vehicle roared into the driveway, cutting him off.
* * *
Sean shook his head. Drake Hargrove wasn’t only a stupid prick, he was also a persistent one. As a cop, Sean had dealt with his type many times. But this was personal.
He yanked Jess’s gun from his waistband and shoved it toward her. “Lock yourself in with Callie. Don’t come out until I give the all clear.”
She scrambled off his lap and hurried toward the hallway. Stopping halfway there, she spun around. “He’s dangerous. Be careful, Sean.”
He gave her a reassuring smile. “I know. I will.”
Once he heard the bedroom door shut, his focus moved outside. No engine noise. Running footsteps. Toward the back door.
Sean darted to the archway leading to the kitchen and flipped the wall switch to turn off the lamp in the living room, cloaking the space in darkness. The back door lock clicked, and the door swished open.
He frowned. Drake didn’t have a key. Was this Hal coming home? The horrible pictures he and Jake had uncovered flashed through his mind. His eyes narrowed, and he relished the feel of the gun in his hand.
Heavy footsteps stomped across the linoleum floor and exited the kitchen just a few feet from Sean.
“Police! Hands in the air,” he ordered, flicking on the light switch with his free hand.
“Fuck,” Chad exclaimed, reaching for the ceiling.
“Fuck,” Sean echoed, and blew out a frustrated breath. “Relax, Chad. It’s me.”
Wearing an angry-bull expression, the older man turned on him. “What the hell? You tryin’ to gimme a goddamn heart attack?”
“Sorry, man. Thought you were Hal.” Sean zeroed in on the other man’s bruised left cheek, the cut over his eyebrow, and his busted lip.
Chad’s gaze dropped to Sean’s gun, now pointed at the floor. “Why would ya be aimin’ that thing at Hal?” His eyes rose to meet Sean’s. Something in his expression said it wasn’t a casual question.
“Uncle Chad?” Jess stood in the hallway entrance, her eyes wide and her face ghostly pale. So much for waiting for Sean’s all clear. “Wh-where’s Da…H-Hal?” she stammered.
Chad’s lips pressed into a thin line.
Her eyes grew even rounder and filled with tears. “D-don’t tell me you lost him. Dear God in heaven, don’t say he got away.”
Sean frowned. Lost him? Got away? What’s she talking about?
Chad pulled Jess into his arms. “It’ll be okay, baby girl. Hush now. Everything’s gonna be fine.”
He brushed her hair aside and said more into her ear that Sean couldn’t hear. She raised her head and peered at him questioningly. Then her expression hardened, sadness faded, and determination took its place. She glanced at Sean before whispering to Chad for several seconds.
Chad pulled back. “But—”
Jess shook her head. “I mean it.”
“What’s going on?” Sean asked, bristling at being excluded.
They turned in tandem, wariness and uncertainty on their faces. Jess regarding him with suspicion rankled…and hurt. How could she not trust him after all he’d done to help?
Before either answered, another vehicle drove into the driveway and stopped. Everyone froze and listened. No one spoke. Sean brought his gun up again and waited.
“Careful, Sean,” Chad warned. “It’s probably Nate.” He angled his head toward Jess. “I dropped him off to get his car.”
A piece of the puzzle: Chad and Nate had been together before they lost Hal or let him get away.
A few minutes later, Nate unlocked and opened the front door. His gaze darted around the room to each person before landing on Sean’s Glock. While he remained in the doorway as though unsure what to say or do, his hands shook so badly that his keys jingled. His T-shirt was torn at the neck, his left eye was swollen and bruised, and blood had dried beneath his nose and on his lips.
Mentally, Sean aligned another puzzle piece: Chad and Nate had been in a fight, probably with Hal, not each other.
“C’mon in, Nate. I was just gettin’ ready to explain to Jessie how Hal got away from us. But I’m thinkin’ we could all use a drink right about now,” Chad said. “Sean, would you do the honors? The whiskey’s…in the pantry.” Jess started to say something, but he silenced her with a stern look.
Sean surveyed the scene. Obviously, Chad wanted to talk to Jess and Nate—alone.
He snorted. He could play along…for a while.
In the kitchen, he first looked for the whiskey bottle where it’d been on the counter the other day, but it was gone. Then he searched the pantry and found no whiskey, no alcohol at all. Wild-goose chase. Big surprise.
As he approached the doorway, he attempted to eavesdrop, but only a low hum of whispering, with no discernible words, came from the other room. He poked his head around the corner. The three huddled in front of the fireplace with Nate in the middle, whispering and gesturing emphatically. When Sean cleared his throat, three pairs of eyes cut in his direction.
“The booze isn’t in the pantry, Chad. Where is it, Jess?” His annoyed scowl delivered a distinct message.
“Oh…uh…I think Mom…um…moved it to the cupboard over the stove. You know, so Callie can’t reach it,” she said.
“Right.”
Several minutes later, he returned to the living room with four tumblers of Jack Daniel’s on the rocks. After distributing the drinks, he settled in the recliner opposite the couch where the others now sat. He sniffed. “What’s that smell?”
“Um…we thought a fire would be nice, but we changed our minds,” Nate said, avoiding Sean’s eyes.
Seriously? Sean’s gaze traveled deliberately to each person. Then he pinned them with a don’t-fuck-with-me-again glare. “We need to talk.”