Chapter Sixteen
Meg sat in the Bronco, her fingers curled into the backseat, eyes trained on the empty dirt road stretching in front of her. She itched to get out of the car, follow Dirk and Luke to the house by the lake, find her son and bring him home.
She wouldn’t, of course. She wouldn’t do anything that might cause the men trouble. She had promised not to get in their way.
Straining for any sound of their return, she heard nothing but the rush of the wind through the trees, the rustle of leafless branches. A storm was moving in, a drizzle beginning to fall.
If she’d had the windows rolled down, she might have heard the approaching footsteps. Instead, she jerked at the light tap-tap against the window glass beside her, and turned to see the barrel of a pistol pointing directly at her head.
Adrenaline surged through her and yet she felt frozen in the seat.
“Reach for the pistol and you’re dead,” the man said. Well-dressed in a pair of dark slacks and expensive Italian leather dress shoes—Prada, she figured, if she knew her designers, which she did. He was medium height, late thirties or early forties, athletic build. Though his dark hair was slightly receding, he was still an attractive man. “Open the door.”
Meg swallowed, fighting for calm, knowing how important it was to make the right moves. She flicked a glance at the gun on the seat and saw a second man on the other side of the Bronco, his pistol pointed at her from the opposite direction. He was bigger, muscular. She couldn’t see his face.
“The door,” the first man said. “Open it now.”
Her heart beat wildly. Dear God, what about Charlie? What about Dirk and Luke? She should have listened, shouldn’t have come. She had put them all in danger.
She cracked open the door, her mind spinning with ways to alert the men, her hiking boots sinking into the mud as she stepped out of Luke’s battered SUV. “Who are you?”
The man in the designer shoes gave her a polite, hard-edged smile. “You may call me Thomas. It isn’t my name, but it will do for now. And you’re Megan. Little Charlie’s mother.”
Her stomach roiled with nausea. She clamped down on a shot of fear. “What have you done with my son?”
“Why don’t I take you to him? I assume your detective friends are somewhere about. Quite clever, they are, finding us here. I don’t think they’ll be pleased to see you, however.” He nudged her with the barrel of his gun, urging her to walk back down the road the way Luke had driven in.
Around the first bend, a silver Honda Accord sat off to one side, a Hertz rental plate frame on the front. The men were from out of town. The one who called himself Thomas spoke well, seemed intelligent, and dressed well. Probably the man behind the kidnapping. She wondered how he’d come up with the scheme.
Thomas opened the rear passenger door and motioned for her to slide onto the seat, then slid in beside her, his gun pressing into her ribs. The other man climbed in behind the wheel of the Accord, filling the seat completely.
As he started the engine, Meg took a deep breath and fought for control, desperate to think of a way to warn Dirk. At the moment all she could think to do was get them to shoot her and hope Dirk heard the sound—not the greatest plan.
A shiver slid through her. She might not have any other choice.
* * *
“We’ve got surprise on our side,” Dirk said, his attention fixed on the house.
“Smash and grab?” Luke asked.
“Affirmative. You want the front or the back?”
Luke’s expression hardened. “You take the back, bring out the kid and the girl. I’ll go in the front.”
“You sure?”
Luke’s features turned to granite. “Oh, yeah, I’m sure.”
At the steely glint in Luke’s blue eyes, Dirk wondered if his friend might cut off the kidnappers’ balls for real this time.
“Give me two minutes to get in place,” Luke said.
Dirk looked down at his watch, started to give a nod, then heard the sound of tires churning up the road. “Someone’s coming.”
Luke’s gaze shot down the lane. Dirk’s pistol was already in hand, his grip on the big semiauto reassuring. Luke palmed his weapon, they split up, and slid quietly off into the woods surrounding the clearing.
Standing in the shadows out of sight behind the thick trunk of a tree, Dirk watched a silver Honda Accord roll toward the house. Rental car. Three people inside.
His stomach cramped at the sight of Meg sitting next to a man in the backseat of the car. The guy lifted his hand, showing off the gun he pressed solidly against her head.
Jesus God, Meg. He shouldn’t have caved to her wishes, should have left her home. Should have tied her up if he’d had to.
The car pulled up and stopped next to the other two. The engine fell silent and the doors cracked open. A man wearing black slacks and a button-down sport shirt, oddly stylish attire for a kidnapper, hauled Meg out of the vehicle and positioned her in front of him. He was clean-shaven with a receding hairline, his dark hair perfectly groomed. Most likely the brains of the operation.
The man in charge pressed his big semiauto firmly against Meg’s temple. “Mr. Reynolds, I know you’re out there, you and your friend, Mr. Brodie. As you can see, the situation has changed, and not in your favor.”
Dirk silently cursed. Not only had they spotted the Bronco, the bugs the men had planted in Meg’s house had given them their names. Two minutes on Google and the bastards knew all about them, knew they were PIs, knew they were former military, which meant they knew he and Luke were armed.
“I need you to come out from wherever you are,” the man said mildly. “If you don’t, I shall pull the trigger on my weapon, firing a bullet into Ms. O’Brien’s very lovely head.”
“Don’t do it, Dirk!” Meg shouted. “They’ll kill you!”
They’d try. That was for sure.
He heard running footsteps. The men from inside had heard the commotion and rushed out to join the fray. They rounded the corner, weapons drawn, and raced toward their friends.
Dirk settled a little lower in the bushes. “Looks like we’re having a party,” he whispered into his mic.
“The more, the merrier,” Luke replied.
They both held positions that gave them clear shots at the men. There were four of them now, with plenty of firepower, and Meg in the middle.
Things couldn’t get any worse.
Scratch that. Pam had just run out of the house, carrying Meg’s little red-haired boy.
“Charlie!” Meg shouted. Dirk could hardly believe his eyes when Meg jerked out of her captor’s arms and started running. Dirk started firing.
Thank you, Jesus, there is a God. Dirk laid down a line of cover, bullets flying, scattering the men, keeping their attention off Meg. He hit curly-haired Cliff in the chest, taking him down and out. Luke double-tapped the short, balding guy, and he went down flat on his back, blood oozing out of a wound in his chest.
Meg kept running, moving in a zigzag pattern she must have seen on some cop show on TV, dodging bullets, and amazing him yet again.
She scooped Charlie out of Pam’s arms, swung a punch that knocked the babysitter flat on her ass, and started running again, ducking out of sight around the corner of the house.
Dirk concentrated on the firefight going on in front of him, pulled off a couple of rounds but couldn’t wipe the grin off his face.
The two men in the Accord had taken cover behind the car; one of them was as big as a house and, the way he was firing, clearly had some military training.
Dirk spotted Luke moving around behind them and laid down a stream of bullets, keeping the men pinned down. Slugs pinged around him, sending wood chips into the air beside his head. They were zeroing in on his location. He had to move.
Luke blasted away, drawing their fire, but the men stayed low and out of sight, pinned behind the car. From a fresh position, Dirk squeezed off a couple of shots. So did Luke. Luke was moving again, silently making his way through the heavy grass and foliage, closing in on the men from behind.
Return fire came from the other side of the Accord, but only from a single pistol. Each shot was placed with precision. The big guy, he thought, and unease filtered through him. Where was the second man? And where were Meg and Charlie?
From the corner of his eye, he saw them coming out from around the house, Meg with her hands bound behind her, the guy in charge holding little Charlie, the gun pointed straight at his head. The little boy reached out to his mother as the kidnapper ran toward the dock with the boy in his arms.
Dirk stayed hidden but moved toward them through the foliage, watching as the man jumped into one of the aluminum fishing boats. Meg jumped in behind him. The kidnapper pulled the starter rope on the outboard engine; it caught and a plume of smoke fluttered into the air.
Dirk steadied his aim, his pistol pointed at the kidnapper, his finger itching to squeeze the trigger, but Charlie and Meg were both in the way and he couldn’t risk taking the shot.
The kidnapper dragged Meg down on the seat beside him, keeping her in the line of fire, settled Charlie in front of him, and the boat roared off toward the open water.
Leaving the big man to Luke, Dirk raced down the incline toward the lake, bullets kicking up dust behind and in front of him, both gunmen firing in his direction. Luke returned fire, forcing the second man to focus on him, giving Dirk a chance to reach the other aluminum boat.
He jumped in and prayed the engine would start, yanked the rope handle, then swore when nothing happened. He could hear Luke and the other man exchanging gunfire as he yanked the handle on the rope three more times and still got no response.
Sending up another silent prayer as the handle dug into his palm, he yanked again and again as he watched the kidnapper steer farther and farther out into the lake.
A string of whispered curses, a last desperate pull, and the motor fired then roared to life. Dirk grabbed the tiller and cranked the throttle, and the boat surged away from the dock. He revved the throttle full speed, racing after the kidnapper’s boat, now a good long distance ahead of him. Water rushed against the hull. Fear for Meg and Charlie ate at him, making his stomach churn.
Don’t let him hurt them, he silently prayed.
He could see the shore in the distance, had no idea what the man would do once he reached it. Maybe the guy had a car parked at the opposite end of the lake as a backup means of escape.
So far the kidnappers had been well prepared.
The motor was racing full speed. With less weight in the boat, Dirk was gaining, but not fast enough. Not nearly fast enough.
He was closing the distance, getting a little nearer, when the unthinkable happened. The boat ahead of him slowed, the kidnapper stood up, dragged Meg up, and pushed her into the icy water. He threw little Charlie in beside her, then shoved the throttle wide open—and left them there to drown.