Daniella didn’t think this was a good time to mention that Isaac’s erratic driving was making her carsick, so she bit her lip and endured.
Radio traffic had come at them so fast she was pretty confused. Not that it mattered. She’d do whatever Isaac told her to do. She clenched her jaw and amended that promise. Common sense had to take precedence over orders if there was no doubt he needed her help.
She was about to ask him what her role was to be when he turned to her and explained. “Jake is going to be upstairs, out of sight, when we arrive. He’ll be armed with the .12 gauge shotgun. That will mean he can’t make distance shots but it’ll be fine for defense if it comes to that. Unless he calls to tell us Fagan beat us to the farm, I want you to make a run for the house as soon as we get there and head straight for Jake. He’ll protect you. Got that?”
“Yes.” Daniella’s mouth was so dry she could hardly swallow. Her immediate goal had to be a facade of calm, for Isaac’s sake if not for her own.
“Culpeper police are already on scene. They know about Jake and to watch for this vehicle.”
“So they don’t shoot us?”
“Ideally, yes,” Isaac said, grimacing. “I’d prefer to have men I’ve worked with backing me up but they’re still fifteen minutes out. If we wait for them...”
“We may be too late to save Becky.”
“Exactly.”
Daniella could tell how concerned Isaac was, and the guilt piled on top of her like tons of sand being unloaded from a dump truck. No matter how hard she tried to rationalize, this kidnapping and whatever followed was her fault. When she’d had a chance to hit the road again and hadn’t followed through, she’d made things worse.
In view of how hard her companion was concentrating and the speed of his driving, she decided to keep any negative thoughts to herself. Isaac needed to focus on freeing his sister. Period.
Yes, she would run upstairs and join Jake. And, yes, she would stay out of the way while the police surrounded her father and made him surrender. But if things started to look bad for Isaac, Becky and Jacob, she was not going to stand idly by and observe.
As far as Daniella was concerned, the plan of trading her for Becky was viable. Terence Fagan was not going to win. Not if she had anything to say about it.
* * *
“I don’t see the cops,” Isaac muttered, wheeling into the driveway and barely slowing until he reached the sheltered area next to the barn.
“They’re supposed to be hiding,” Daniella reminded him.
“There should be an officer I can talk to, somebody who can brief me on their plans.”
“Shall I wait?” she asked.
Isaac’s “No!” was gruff and loud. He tempered his anxiety as best he could and pointed at the back door. “Sorry. Just go.”
If this had been a regular assignment, not involving his loved ones, he’d have carried out his orders with calm assurance and technical expertise. For the first time since the academy, he could understand why agents who were personally involved with a situation were pulled off that case. Knowing the victims too well did change a person’s reactions and hamper judgment.
With no sign of Fagan or Becky and the knowledge that the other man may have been within viewing range of them in the city, Isaac assumed he’d arrived first. Therefore, it made sense to use Abby one more time, just in case. Fagan’s choice of the farm as a meeting place seemed odd. In case he’d already been there and planted explosives again, hoping to get rid of all of them at once, this was the ideal time to conduct a quick sweep.
He released his dog, then started to work his way around the house. Jake would take care of Daniella, he would face Fagan and get Becky back, and the police, wherever they were, would take the convicted felon into custody.
That was how it all worked in textbooks. Right now, Isaac would have agreed to any scenario that would bring his loved ones out alive.
He pictured Daniella and took a deep breath, releasing it with a whoosh. Yes. His loved ones. All of them.
* * *
“How long have you been up here?” Daniella asked Jacob.
“Since Isaac called.”
“You’ve been able to watch the road that whole time?”
Jake nodded. “Yeah.”
“Have you seen any local cops?”
“A patrol car cruised through the yard, then left. Either they didn’t understand what was going down or they decided it wasn’t important. I ran downstairs to talk to them but they were already gone.”
“Didn’t you report it?”
“Oh, sure. And whoever took my call acted as if I was overreacting.” He snorted derisively. “Apparently they were expecting to drive up and see a gunfight. When the place was quiet, they thought the threat was over.”
“Are they coming back?”
He shrugged. “They said they were but I sure haven’t seen any sign of them.”
“What are we going to do?” She grabbed his forearm. “We can’t leave Isaac down there all alone to face my dad. What about Becky?”
He laid a warm, strong hand over hers. “Look. I know you want to help, but we won’t do Isaac any favors if we get in his way and mess up his plans.”
“Ha! I listened to him making plans on the drive home. It sounded more like the script for a sitcom. He won’t know what to do until he sees Becky and that awful man.”
“At least, thanks to Abby, we’ll be sure there’s no bomb this time.”
“Big whoop. Where there are bullets, who needs a stupid bomb?”
Knowing Jake didn’t deserve her sarcasm, she reined it in. “Sorry. I’m getting to the end of my rope. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”
“Holler all you want,” he told her with a slight smile. “Believe me, I’ve felt like it today.”
“I’m going down the hall to use the restroom,” Daniella said. “Be right back.”
The fact that Jake let her leave his side without complaint proved that he believed her. And she hadn’t lied, exactly. She was going to splash cold water on her face from the bathroom sink. Her only secret was she didn’t intend to go back to him before checking on a couple of other things.
She glanced at her watch. Less than ten minutes until the meeting. Everything would soon be over.
And, God willing, the good guys would win.
A nagging voice in the recesses of her brain kept asking, What if they don’t?
That premise was unacceptable. She didn’t have a gun as Becky did and wouldn’t have known how to use it if she had. Knives were also out. After helping care for victims of knife fights, she knew she’d never be able to hurt anyone that way. Besides, she’d have to get too close, and anybody with a gun could cut her down before she had a chance.
So what was left? Visions of armored knights on horseback wielding lances led her toward the familiar kitchen. In medieval days, castle defenders had dropped burning logs or poured pots of boiling oil down on their enemies. That would work only if her foes happened to stand below one of the upstairs windows, but she figured it was better to prepare something than to stand there like a lamb waiting for slaughter.
Isaac was no longer visible in the yard. There was no sign of her father and Becky yet, either. Live coals were out because they might ignite the whole house. Would she have time to get a pot of cooking oil hot enough to burn someone?
There was only one way to find out. She turned on a burner, grabbed a pan and started to fill it with corn oil. Watching it heat, she berated herself for trying such a silly idea. She would gladly have done something else, something far more clever, if anything had come to mind.
Most of all, she yearned to know the unknowable, that they were all going to survive. Closing her eyes, Daniella turned to the only source of comfort available. She took her heartfelt appeal to the One who was always there, always faithful, her heavenly Father.
This time there was no sense of peace, no unusual result, no amazing realization. This time, she saw that part of the answer was up to her. First, she must trust the Lord of the universe. Then, she must employ the wits He had given her and be ready to act in whatever manner He presented. Bravely. Quickly. Without thought for self-preservation.
Was she afraid to risk her life? Of course she was. But she needed to take part in the rescue in order to redeem herself. How that might happen was yet to be determined.
Peering out the window over the kitchen sink, her breath caught. Isaac had returned and was standing firm, feet apart, one hand hovering over his holstered gun like a sheriff in an old Western.
A green van fishtailed around the corner, heading straight for him.
He never flinched.
Clamping her hands over her mouth, Daniella stifled a scream. She could not move, could not force herself to look away. Not even if...
The tires of the green vehicle threw up clouds of dust as it slid to a halt mere inches from the K-9 cop.
Round one to Isaac, she thought with heart-stopping relief. Should she stay where she was and continue watching, praying, or should she grab the hot pan of oil and take it upstairs?
That question was answered when she saw her estranged father climb from the van. He hauled a bruised, disheveled Becky out after him, wrenching her past the steering wheel as if she were of no consequence, and pointing toward the house.
Daniella realized she’d run out of time. If she’d gone back to Jake sooner she’d already be in place with the oil, ready to pour it on Fagan.
Instead, she turned and raced up the stairs, calling herself all sorts of names for not acting promptly enough. What good was a weapon if she wasn’t in the right position to use it?
On the second floor again, she tiptoed to the rear bedroom, where she’d last seen Jacob, and soundlessly pushed open the door.
She froze. Her feet felt glued to the floor.
Jacob—and his shotgun—were gone!
* * *
The kitchen door slammed.
Becky gave a muffled cry of pain as she was shoved into a chair.
Isaac spun around, reaching for his sister, and felt a sharp pain slice through his temple.
He dropped to his knees, dazed.
If it hadn’t been for Fagan’s pistol and his sister’s vulnerability, he would have jumped the older man outside. “Where’s my rich little girl?” Fagan drawled.
Still kneeling, Isaac raised up, supported by one arm while the other probed his scalp wound. “I told you the money was in Arlington. If you wanted it, you should have met us there.”
“Naw. My Ella and I can pick it up later. Or I can go by myself after she tells me which bank it’s in.”
“She put it in a safe-deposit box,” Isaac informed him, hoping that news would help keep the hostages alive a little longer, himself included.
“Think you’re smart, don’t ya?” Fagan wielded the pistol like a club, barely missing Isaac’s forehead when he swung this time.
That error left him a fraction off balance. His arms cartwheeled.
Isaac rocketed up off the floor and hit him squarely in the midsection. They both staggered backward.
Becky was too battered to do more than raise one foot and trip her captor as he passed.
That, coupled with Isaac’s weight, was enough to down him and send the gun sliding away across the smooth vinyl.
Fagan writhed, twisted, stretched toward his pistol.
A shrill “No!” echoed through the house and into the kitchen. If Fagan recognized the woman’s voice, he gave no indication of it. Isaac, however, knew exactly who was shouting.
“Get out of here,” he yelled, breathless from grappling with her nefarious father and angry that she would so blatantly disobey a sensible order.
“Becky, grab the gun!” Daniella screeched from the foot of the stairs.
Fagan’s straining fingers brushed the pistol grip too hard and pushed the gun farther away instead of capturing it.
Isaac saw a flash of movement as someone dashed past and for a moment thought the stubborn nurse was going to follow his instructions to flee.
That instant of inattention was nearly fatal. The man he’d had pinned to the kitchen floor threw himself sideways and flipped Isaac onto his back, grabbing his wrists and holding them immobile, keeping either of them from getting to the loose pistol.
Isaac had a holdout gun in an ankle holster he couldn’t reach. His quarry, being heavier and having a clear head, had gained the advantage. His sister was groggier than he was, and to make terrible matters worse, Daniella was somewhere nearby.
Didn’t she know how dangerous it was for her? Hadn’t she seen enough of her father’s deeds to guess what he’d do to her the first chance he got?
Struggling mightily, Isaac raised his shoulders off the floor, preparing to head-butt Fagan, even if it knocked them both out.
A primal roar from above and slightly behind made him freeze. There was a flash of metal. A swish of air. Followed by a hollow-sounding bonk that reminded him of the time Jake had dropped a ripe watermelon on their mother’s living room carpet.
Fagan slumped forward, unconscious.
Pushing the man’s limp body off his chest, Isaac struggled to his feet, expecting to see that his brother had come to his rescue.
Instead, Daniella stood off to one side, armed with a cast-iron skillet that was older than their combined ages. Her muscles were quivering and her eyes enormous. Nevertheless, she had taken the stance needed to repeat the blow and was clearly ready to do so.
“I’ll take that,” Isaac told her, stopping to scoop up Fagan’s gun.
His other fist closed around the handle of the skillet. Daniella released it so easily he almost fumbled. “What did you think you were doing?”
“Saving your life.” She leaned past Isaac to look at her father. “Did I kill him?”
“No, honey. I imagine you gave him a corker of a headache, though.” He guided her to a chair and urged her to sit so he could turn his attention to his sister.
Becky looked black-and-blue but she was also grinning at Daniella. “Good one. If I wasn’t so whipped right now I’d borrow your pan and give him a whack myself.”
Isaac glanced at the prone figure. Fagan hadn’t moved a muscle but was breathing regularly. “Looks like he’ll be out for a while. I’ll cuff him, anyway.” He reached for his duty belt before recalling that he’d been forced to drop it outside after he’d been relieved of his weapon, as well.
The sound of distant sirens was rapidly growing louder so Isaac opted to tend to his injured sister for a few more moments. Rinsing a dishcloth in cold water, he folded it and laid it on her forehead. “Better?”
“Mmm, thanks. That feels good.” She closed her eyes and sighed.
Daniella was also concerned with Becky’s condition. “We need antiseptic and gauze squares to clean her cuts and scrapes. She should see a doctor, too, as soon as possible.”
“We’ll let the EMTs handle those details.” He straightened, glancing toward the unconscious man and expecting to see the same scene as before.
Instead, he watched as Terence Fagan stood. He was brandishing a different weapon—the gun he’d taken from Isaac when he’d first arrived at the farm.
Isaac shouted, “Look out!”
Becky screamed.
Daniella ricocheted off the edge of the kitchen counter, unsuccessfully trying to thwart her father’s attempt to grab her.
Isaac had pulled his reliable holdout gun, but Daniella was in the way of a clean shot.
All he could do was stand there and watch as Fagan dragged her, kicking and screaming, across the kitchen toward the back door.