Love Inspired Suspense July 2015 #1 (17 page)

“You're welcome.” The compliment warmed her to the core and brought a slight smile. “I don't want the poor kid to be scarred for life because of seeing something awful, but I do wish he hadn't run away before the actual shooting.”

“Yeah, if that's what he really did.”

Driving back to DC, they approached the hospital where Daniella had worked and she felt a pang of nostalgia. No matter how trying her job had been at times, she'd enjoyed doing it. She was about to comment along those lines when Isaac's cell phone sounded.

“Maybe that's your big boss returning your call.”

“I hope so.”

She saw his face change when he looked at the ID on the small screen. “Becky? What's wrong?”

Daniella didn't have to hear the answer to know it was something dire. Isaac clenched his jaw muscle. His eyes narrowed. He pulled to the shoulder of the road just before they reached the beltway and handed his phone to her.

“Becky?” she said, wishing they were together so she could read her friend's face as well as she was reading Isaac's. When the connection stayed quiet, she pleaded, “Talk to me. Please?”

The sound of shuffling in the background was all that was coming through. Then she heard what had to be a slap, a gasp and a thud, followed by a shaky “Daniella?”

Clearly there was something terribly wrong. Cradling the small cell phone, she motioned to Isaac to shut off the SUV's engine so she could hear every nuance.

When Becky did start to speak, it was rapid-fire and barely understandable. “Kidnapped. Don't come after me. I'm...”

Again there was the smacking sound of flesh against flesh and then a scream. “No!”

The evil-sounding cackle that followed made Daniella physically ill. She held out the phone and stared at it rather than keeping it pressed to her ear. One look at Isaac told her he already knew who had taken his sister.

Becky was with someone even worse than Harland Jeffries was suspected of being.

She'd been abducted by Terence Fagan!

* * *

Isaac reclaimed his phone. “Where's my sister, you useless...?”

“Now, now, is that any way to talk in front of a lady?”

“What do you want?”

“A simple trade,” Fagan said. “My woman for yours.”

“No trade. We don't negotiate with kidnappers.”

“In that case, say goodbye to your sister.”

“Wait.” He eyed Daniella, looking for a sign of approval as he said, “How about a ransom? Your daughter has a lot of money stashed away.”

She was nodding rapidly, clearly in agreement, and leaned closer to Isaac to put her ear next to his and eavesdrop on the conversation.

Fagan chuckled. “It's a tad too late for that. I'm afraid this conversation is over. If you won't trade my daughter for your sister, she's of no use to me anymore.”

Shouting “Wait” into the phone, Daniella tried to wrest it from Isaac. He held fast so she resorted to yelling. “I'll come. I'll take her place. I promise I will. Just don't hurt her.”

“No, she won't,” Isaac insisted, pulling away and stepping out of the car to distance himself from her interference. Pacing, he continued to argue with Fagan, hoping the man would listen to reason or at least be tempted by the big payday Daniella could provide.

“I figure it must be close to half a million,” Isaac told him. “I can get it and deliver it to you. Just tell me where and when.”

“I thought you didn't negotiate.”

“Officially, we don't.”

“But my having your sister makes a difference?”

“Yes.” It galled him to admit weakness, yet he had no choice. The only way to rescue Becky was to stall her kidnapper until he could set a trap for him, probably at the site of the exchange. As long as Fagan kept him busy on the phone he couldn't arrange a thing. Not a thing.

Isaac motioned for Daniella to join him and once again shared the phone with her.

She clapped a hand over her opposite ear. “What? I can't hear you.”

“Where's the cop?”

“He's right here. We both are.”

Isaac affirmed her claim, making a rolling motion with one hand to indicate she should keep talking and stall. Then he slipped back into the SUV to radio headquarters and inform them of the kidnapping. He was taking a chance by trying to trick a wily criminal like Fagan. Daniella's wits were going to have to keep them both out of hot water.

He laid down the mic when he saw her motioning wildly for him to return to her.

“Noise is bad here. Say again?” Isaac asked. His heart fell when he heard Fagan's demand.

“Look, I can't get home that fast. We were headed back to DC. We're clear on the opposite side of the beltway right now and traffic is almost at a standstill.”

“Excuses? You don't want your sister back, do you?”

“Of course I do.” The phone cackled as if it had a mind of its own, and the hair on the back of Isaac's neck prickled.

“I'll give you one hour to get back to your farm,” Fagan told Isaac. “Any longer than that and your sister dies.” Another laugh grated. “And when you call your brother to tip him off, make sure he understands that I'll be ready to put a bullet in her the second I think something's wrong, so he'd better behave himself.”

“Why rendezvous at the farm?” Isaac asked. “Why didn't you just blow up the house with the last bomb and get it over with?” Dead silence on the other end of the line was confusing.

Finally, Fagan spoke. “I don't know what you're trying to pull, but I didn't have time to place explosives at your house when I was there. I was too busy shooting at my ungrateful kid. Almost got her, too. And you and your buddies and those ugly mutts.”

Before Isaac could question him further, Fagan added, “Look at your watch and get moving. The hour starts now.”

Grabbing Daniella's arm and half dragging her with him, he raced for the car. “Hurry. We only have an hour to get home and I have a lot of preparations to make in the meantime.”

“Do you want me to drive?”

“Only if you've had a defensive driving course.”

She climbed in the passenger side and slammed her door, then reached for the buckle ends of the seat belt. “Can we make it?”

He flicked on the lights and siren and eased away from the curb. Most of the passing cars gave him the right-of-way as soon as they could find a place to pull over—which wasn't easy.

In the clear, Isaac floored the accelerator. They'd get home in under an hour. They had to.

The only thing he didn't like was keeping Daniella with him. If he could think of any safe place to drop her, or imagined for one second that she'd stay out of trouble on her own, he'd gladly leave her standing at the curb and speed off.

One glance at her determined expression and the way she was clenching her fists told him they must stay together. Leaving her to her own devices, the way she had been when she'd driven her car into the path of rifle bullets, was out of the question. He didn't know how he was going to control her once she saw her father and Becky. He simply knew he had to try.

And keep trying.

Until there were no more chances left.

SIXTEEN

D
aniella 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.