In Seconds (32 page)

“You bet.”

A couple of minutes later, Marley’s voice came on the line. “Daddy?”

“Hi, honey. How are you?”

“Okay. But…what about you?”

He shifted to ease the throbbing in his leg. “I’m good as new.”

“
Really?
After being
shot?
You’d tell me if you weren’t, right?”

“I’d tell you.”

She seemed to trust his response. “When will I see you, then?”

“I’ll come by after work tonight.”

“To get me?”

He stood just to test his ability to put pressure on his foot. He’d barely been able to remain upright in the shower, but it seemed to improve with use. “No, just to say hi. I need you to stay at least another night. I’m going to be very busy trying to catch these guys, and I don’t want you home alone.”

“You’ll get ’em. If anyone can, it’s you.”

Wishing he had her confidence, he eased himself back onto the bed. “I hope you’re right.”

“It’s scary, though, isn’t it?” she said. “To think that there are escaped convicts in town? I mean, we never went through anything this dangerous even when we lived in Phoenix.”

“I know. Hopefully, it’ll never happen again,” he said as he checked his bandages.

“Is Vivian okay?”

Vivian was better than okay. She was naked and in the shower, and the thought of that was distracting to him despite everything else. “She’s doing great. You like Vivian, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

He took off the gauze on his neck, balled it up and threw it in the trash can. He didn’t need it, and it was wet from the shower, anyway. “Good.”

She laughed. “Why’d you ask that?”

Because he wanted Vivian to be part of their lives. He didn’t know for sure if she’d become a permanent fixture. They weren’t that far along. But everything he felt so far suggested it was a strong possibility. “Just wondered.”

“That’s a weird question,” she said, and laughed again. “Why wouldn’t I like her? She’s our neighbor. Do you
want her to come stay with us until you catch the guys who are trying to hurt her or something?”

“No, we live too close to where she does.”

“Where else can she go? Are you guys still at the motel?”

“For now. She’s…um…in the next room. But I think I’ll have Claire pick her up.”

“The lady who cuts my hair?”

“That’s her.”

“Oh, right. She and Vivian are best friends. She always has one of Vivian’s purses.”

“Vivian’s been generous with you on that score, too,” he pointed out.

“I know. I can’t wait to see her latest.”

He smiled at her enthusiasm. He wasn’t sure how quickly his daughter might accept Vivian as his love interest but they had a foundation on which to build. That reassured him. “I’d better get to work. I’ll see you later, huh?”

“Okay. I love you, Daddy.”

“Love you, too,” he said, and disconnected.

Steam rolled out of the bathroom as Vivian cracked open the door. “Everything okay with Marley?”

“Fine.”

“Did I hear you mention Claire?”

He pulled on the shirt he’d taken from his bag when he got out of the shower. He didn’t have his uniform with him, but he wasn’t going to worry about that. Today it was just jeans and a T-shirt—and his gun. “I was thinking you might want to spend the afternoon there, since I can’t stay with you. Might make it easier to wait for the news on your brother.”

She came out, wearing a towel. “I don’t know if anything will make that easier.”

“But I have no idea how long I’ll be gone. You can’t go home. And you can’t be seen in your car, not after Ink and Lloyd saw it parked in your driveway. What else are you going to do? I don’t want you walking around town if I can’t make it back in time to bring dinner.”

Fluffing her hair to help it dry, she stared at the phone. “I just want Rex to call.”

“It might be a while,” he said gently.

She sighed. “Then I’ll call the hospital with her number. I’d rather be with her than alone.”

His leg hurt with every step, but he made his way over to her and pulled her into his arms. “He’s going to make it, Vivian.”

She didn’t answer, but when she pressed her face into his neck, he could feel her tears.

“Give Claire a call. I’ll check in with you later,” he said, and kissed her on the forehead before he left.

It was even easier to get inside the house than Ink had expected. The doors were locked. He’d tried them, starting with the back. But locked doors were no problem when there was a key under the mat. He guessed that key was what the teenage daughter used when she came home late at night, or a present she’d left out for her boyfriend. He doubted the parents even realized it was there.

The door swung open without so much as a creak, and Ink smiled as he stepped across the threshold. Laurel must’ve been tipped off when he went to her house, but he’d get to her yet. And Virgil and Rex would be next. Not only would he have his revenge, he’d gain new stat
ure with The Crew when he reported to Horse that he’d accomplished what no one else had been able to do.

A TV blared somewhere deeper in the house. He’d seen the flicker of the screen while watching from the back, so that didn’t surprise him. He probably should’ve waited until later, when everyone went to bed, but he’d been too impatient. He’d figured he’d have a better chance of getting in if he did it before the parents locked up for the night. He wanted people in town to be awake, too, so that Mrs. Rogers would have plenty of folks to ask about Laurel…?.

He hadn’t expected the house to be secured so early. Most people didn’t lock their doors at eight-thirty. But he would’ve gotten in whether the key was handy or not, would’ve broken in if necessary. It wasn’t as if they had neighbors he needed to worry about. And he’d already cut the phone line. What were they going to do?

“Knock, knock. Anyone home?” he called out cheerfully.

The daughter he’d seen with L.J. appeared first. She figured heavily into his plans, was precisely the person he hoped to use as a distraction from the impending wait. But he couldn’t give that away just yet.

“Hi, there. Is your father home?”

She dropped the remote when she saw the gun. But he hadn’t raised it yet, so she didn’t seem too sure about how to react. “Who are you?”

“I guess you could say a friend of a friend. Do you know Vivian Stewart? And Mia and Jake?”

She stepped back as if she’d realized who he was, and that was when he lifted the gun. “I wouldn’t move, if I were you.”

“Alexis—” The woman he’d seen in the window
earlier rounded the corner and froze. She was drying a baking dish, but lowered her hands and the dish immediately.

“I think you need to call for your husband, or I’m going to shoot your daughter,” he told her.

She gaped at him.

“I gave you an order.”

One hand, the hand with the dish towel, went to her chest. “He…he—”

“He what?” Ink prompted. “You can do it. Spit it out.”

“He’s not home,” Alexis supplied.

What she said came as a surprise, and he thought it could be a lie. A man was part of this household. It was apparent from the way the garage was organized, the number of tools, the NASCAR and Dallas Cowboy cheerleader posters, the deer head mounted over the fireplace, even the smell, which reminded him of leather and playing cards. “I think he must be. My guess is that SUV out in the drive belongs to him. So…I’m giving you five seconds to get him out here.”

Mrs. Rogers whimpered. He still had his gun pointed at her daughter, and she didn’t like it. “No! Please! Listen, he—he’s out of town. He works out of town. That is his Esplanade, but I drove him to the airport.”

Could this be true? Ink hadn’t actually
seen
a man at the cabin either time he’d been here. And he doubted she’d risk her daughter’s life. “When will he be back?”

Alexis answered, as if she was afraid her mother might not be able to form the words quickly enough. “Not for two more days.”

“If you’re lying—”

“I’m not lying!” Her face was as chalk-white as Mrs.
Rogers’s, but the ponytail that held her hair back revealed bright-red ears.

“Good. Looks like I’m getting lucky everywhere I turn. Where are the kids?”

Mrs. Rogers’s eyes widened. “What kids?”

To make his threat even clearer, he stepped closer to Alexis. “I could rape her in front of you, or take her to the back. Your choice.”

“Don’t hurt her!” Her voice had fallen to a whisper, but there was more pleading in that whisper than if she’d shouted.

“I’m talking about the kid or kids who use the soccer ball that’s in the yard and the other sports equipment in the garage.”

“The twins,” Alexis said. “They’re at camp.”

“Hmm. Lucky again. Why don’t we go into the living room and have a seat so I can explain what I need you to do for me.”

Mother and daughter turned just as a voice issued from the second floor. “Mo-om! Can me and Marley have another dish of ice cream?”

Ink almost pulled the trigger right then. He thought one death would be quite convincing. But he didn’t want Mrs. Rogers to get hysterical. He needed her to be able to think straight. “Trying to trick me? Huh? You’re going to pay for that,” he said instead of firing. “Now get them down here.”

The girl from upstairs called out again when she received no answer. “Mo-om!”

Mrs. Rogers closed her eyes and her lips moved as if in prayer.

“Now!” he yelled, giving her a shove, but she didn’t have to speak. The sound of his voice drew two young
teens down the stairs to see what was going on. Once they saw him, they stood on the landing with their mouths agape.

“Guess you didn’t realize you had company.” Grabbing Alexis, he put the muzzle to her temple. “Now, let me make myself clear. Is there anyone else in the house?”

Alexis was shaking. He could feel it. She didn’t dare move, but one of the other girls spoke up. “N-no.” Judging by her features, she belonged to the family. She was the “me” part of “me and Marley.” The other girl, tall and dark and slender, did not belong to the family. That made her the “Marley” part.

“You won’t get away with this,” Marley said, big brown eyes shining with defiance.

He had to admire her nerve. “Me” was already crying.

“We’ll see.” He waved the gun.

They marched into the living room. That was where he told Mrs. Rogers exactly what she was going to do in the next hour—or return to find her family murdered. And that was when she insisted she didn’t have to go anywhere to be able to give him the information he demanded.

After using a slim, regional phone book, she wrote down the name and address of someone named Claire, who’d advertised her haircutting business in the Yellow Pages. Mrs. Rogers said she and “Vivian” were best friends, that Vivian would be there or Claire would know where to find her, and she was pretty convincing. Desperation did that to a person.

She might’ve given Laurel up, but she was stupid to think he’d leave them in peace. He’d knocked out their phone, but even if he took the keys to every vehicle they had, they could walk or ride a bike to a cabin or the high
way for help. He had no doubt whatsoever that they’d figure out some way to go to the police the moment he left.

And that was why he had to kill them.

T
he fuzziness caused by the pills Ink had given him had started to clear about an hour earlier. L.J. was more lucid now, lucid enough to move without stumbling or falling, lucid enough to separate reality from imagination. The pain in his shoulder was excruciating, made him wonder what Ink had screwed up in the process of digging out that bullet, but it was comforting to know he wasn’t walking around with a slug in his body. He had to acknowledge that.

With concerted time and effort, he’d managed to traverse the half mile or so of forest separating their cabin and that of their closest neighbor. He’d use the phone to call for help. He’d tell the police everything that’d happened and everything Ink had planned and hope they’d believe he hadn’t killed anybody. He didn’t want to be a gangbanger anymore. He wanted to get his life in order, even if it meant serving more time. Punishing the world for his shitty childhood only insured he had a shitty adulthood, and nothing had been worse than the past week with Ink. It’d shown him that he wasn’t like Ink at all, and no longer aspired to be. He wanted to make his grandparents proud—because if there was a heaven, they were in it.

When he spotted the back of the cabin peeking through the pines, he felt a huge surge of relief. Not only was he tired, he needed a doctor, probably some antibiotics, as well, and he wanted to know he was safe from Ink’s unexpected return. But then he came across the white truck they’d been driving since Ink killed those dads and realized that he hadn’t gone far at all.

He was here at the Rogers cabin.

Why?

This couldn’t be about that bit of fluff they’d seen on the deck. Ink didn’t care about sex; he couldn’t even get a good boner. The bullet that’d jacked up his spinal cord had made him impotent. That was part of the reason he hated Laurel so much—the only part L.J. could sort of identify with. He wouldn’t want anyone to take his manhood away from him, either. But from what he’d seen, whatever happened to Ink, Ink deserved.

So what did his old cellie want here? A hostage? New transportation?

Knowing him, it could be anything.

But what Ink did now didn’t matter to L.J. If Ink had left the keys in the ignition, he was home free…?.

Careful not to make any more noise than was absolutely necessary, in case Ink was on his way back for whatever reason, L.J. slipped around to the driver’s side and opened the door. Sure enough, the keys dangled from the ignition. He could jump in and head for town. Get help. These past two weeks would finally come to an end.

He was about to do just that, but hesitated. With a twenty-minute drive, any help he brought would be pretty damn long in coming. By the time the police arrived, Ink could be done here and well on his way to Canada
or somewhere else in the family’s Esplanade, if it was still parked out front.

Unless he was crazy enough to go after Laurel again…

Did he let his old cellie do whatever he was going to do? Or did he try to stop him?

Ink was so dangerous, L.J. preferred to escape unnoticed. But if
he
was scared, he knew this family had to be terrified.

Deciding to check out the situation to see what was going on, he left the truck and crept around the side of the house, looking in every window that wasn’t covered by a blind.

Most of the rooms were dark and empty. Maybe Ink had already boosted the Esplanade. If so, L.J. could get out of here. But when he came around the house, he realized that wasn’t the case. Probably because they had no close neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Rogers weren’t too cautious about lowering their blinds. They were raised as high as ever on the front windows, plenty high enough for L.J. to see that Ink had two younger girls, the bikini chick and her mother in the living room and was brandishing that damn gun.

Where was the dad?

Maybe he’d already been killed.

Or he wasn’t home in the first place.

L.J. hated Ink, wanted to help the Rogers family. But he didn’t have a weapon. The best he could do was use the bat he’d seen in the garage the last time they were here. His left shoulder was hurt, not his right. Still…did he have the strength to swing it?

“That’s crazy, man. A bat against a gun?” he whispered to himself. He started to turn away, to head back to the truck. But then he saw Ink grab the dark-haired
girl by the hair and yank her up against him. The bastard was going to kill her.

Almost without thinking, L.J. picked up a rock from amid the plants at his feet and threw it at the window. He heard the shattering of glass as he ran for the cover of the garage. Then a gunshot rang out. Where that bullet had gone, he had no idea. Maybe Ink had killed the girl. Or maybe he’d shot in the direction of the rock.

The bat was where he’d seen it. He grabbed it and waited, hoping Ink would charge out of the house and head to the Esplanade so he could rush him from behind. But that didn’t happen. Nothing happened. Until several more shots rang out.

“Son of a bitch.” Had he killed them, anyway?

Now that he’d committed himself he was actually eager to fight. He’d wanted to stop Ink when Ink had attacked that real-estate guy. He’d wanted to step in when Ink had shot those four men walking into the cabin. He’d even wanted to keep Ink from going to Laurel’s house last night. He’d had no stake in coming to Pineview, no reason to kill innocent people. It was time he put a stop to his old cellie for good.

Wishing the bat didn’t feel quite so heavy, he lifted it over his right shoulder and peered around the corner. The front window had been shattered; he’d expected that. But as he crept closer, using the darkness and the trees for cover, he saw that the living room was empty. If Ink had killed this family, they were lying somewhere else. And if he hadn’t killed them, L.J. had done all he could.

Tossing the bat aside, he gave up searching for Ink and began to run for the truck.

But he didn’t make it. Another gunshot ripped through the night, pain flared in his head, then he landed on the ground, face-first.

L.J. had thrown that rock? Ink couldn’t believe it. That was gratitude for you. He should’ve let him die instead of removing that damn bullet.

His former cellie was dead now. Ink had shot him twice just to be sure, but it brought little satisfaction. There was no repairing the damage the bastard had done. When he’d thrown that rock at the window, Ink had thought a S.W.A.T. team was coming after him. He’d turned and fired, but then Mrs. Rogers had hit him with a lamp and just about knocked him senseless. By the time he could think straight, everyone was gone—they’d scattered all over the house or run to the same room. He hadn’t bothered to look. He’d fired a few shots in frustration, just to scare the shit out of them, and hurried out to catch L.J. before he could do anything else.

Now it was no use trying to chase them down. For all he knew, Mrs. Rogers had come up with her husband’s hunting rifle or some other firearm and would shoot him if he tried to go back inside. It was best to disable the remaining vehicles and leave. Hopefully, by the time they found help, he’d be finished with Laurel and well on his way to Canada.

She was the one he wanted, anyway. The only one who mattered here in Pineview. And, if Mrs. Rogers had given him adequate directions, he had a good chance of finding her.

The doctors were taking forever with Virgil. Vivian had spoken to Rex two more times, but he had nothing
new to report. An hour ago, the nurse had said Rex was asleep in the lobby and had refused to wake him. “He looks like death warmed over, that one. I suggest you let him sleep.”

Apparently the nurse could tell he was going through withdrawal. Earlier he’d complained that she didn’t like him, that she had a bad attitude about letting him use the phone, but he must’ve won her over. Vivian could hear it in the woman’s voice—and had to smile regardless of her concern for Virgil. Not many women could remain immune to Rex’s charm. If she hadn’t met Myles, if Myles wasn’t exactly what she needed and wanted in a man, she feared she’d fall right back into the same old situation with Rex. As it was, she was happy with what she’d found, hopeful that she and Myles might be able to build the kind of life she’d always dreamed of.

She was equally hopeful that Rex could stay clean and find the happiness he deserved.

“Keep a close eye on him,” she’d told the nurse. “He might need some medical help himself.”

“My thoughts exactly,” came the reply. The woman told her Virgil was still in surgery, and that was it—all she’d learned after waiting the entire day.

“Can it really take this long?” she complained to Claire. They were sitting on Claire’s small porch, drinking herbal tea and watching the moths dance around the porch light, the stars overhead brighter than ever. Excited as she was by what was happening between her and Myles, it would’ve been a perfect night.

Except for the agonizing worry.

Myles had called once and claimed his leg wasn’t even bothering him, but Vivian knew that couldn’t be true. From what he’d said on the phone, he was no closer to
finding Ink than when they’d separated at the motel, but he refused to give up. She had no idea how long it’d be before he came to get her, but she was looking forward to another night at the motel.

“I can’t believe you’re with the sheriff now. I
knew
you’d be good for each other.”

“Yeah, well, don’t jinx it,” she teased.

“I think you make a perfect couple.”

“You’ve been telling me that for a while.” Vivian had enjoyed discussing Myles, but the worry lurking underneath all the chitchat was starting to get to her. “Do you think I should call the hospital again?”

Claire pulled her gaze away from her sister’s house, which was set back even farther than hers. It was just the two of them on this little lane. Most of the homes in the surrounding area were impoverished—this was the poor side of town, farther from the lake—but both their houses were unique and more artsy than ghetto. They were right next to the old city park. That park wasn’t used anymore but it was a pretty piece of land, except for the ugly cement restrooms. “Does it matter what I say?”

“What does that mean?” Vivian asked.

“I think Rex will contact you when it’s over. But that isn’t what you want to hear.”

“Because I can’t rely on it. Maybe the nurse doesn’t want to wake him. Or she went off duty and the new nurse isn’t even aware of what’s going on.”

Claire reached out to squeeze her hand. “Go call. It might ease your mind.”

Vivian had just slipped inside and picked up the phone when she heard the roar of an engine revved way too high, followed by the sound of squealing brakes. This was a dirt road that dead-ended into the old park; there
was no need to be traveling at such speed. She was about to duck her head out to see what was going on when the
pop…pop
of gunfire turned her knees to water.

The call Myles received came from dispatch. Nadine Archer said she had Trudie Jenson on the phone, which meant he was hearing from Trudie for the second time in as many days. But this call wasn’t because she had Ink or Lloyd in her store. This was because Trudie’s Grocery was the first open business one reached when approaching town from the east and Brett Hamerschlit had stopped there to get help. According to Nadine, he had Janet Rogers in his Suburban.

When Myles heard what Trudie passed along to the dispatcher, it felt like someone had wrapped barbed wire around his heart. It hurt just to breathe. “What’d you say?”

Nadine repeated herself, slowly and distinctly, but her earlier rush of words had nothing to do with why he hadn’t been able to understand her. He’d quit listening after hearing the name
Rogers,
flipped on his cop lights and floored the accelerator in order to get out there as fast as possible. Marley…

Fortunately, he’d already been headed in that direction. Allen had called a couple of hours ago to report seeing a white pickup turn down a dirt road about a mile or so from his house. Myles wouldn’t have thought much of it. He’d been following up on calls from various citizens who’d spotted white pickups all evening. But there was the coincidence of Ned Green dropping Ink and Lloyd off in that general area. So once he’d exhausted any leads he’d considered more promising, he’d decided to have a look. Although there’d been no reports from
up the mountain, he’d begun to wonder if Ink and Lloyd might’ve broken into an empty cabin and simply holed up there. They certainly weren’t in town. He’d searched everywhere.

“Where is Marley?” he asked.

“Home with Alexis. So is Elizabeth. Janet drove a four-wheeler to the road and flagged down Brett. He brought her into town. They need you up there, Sheriff. There’s a dead man in the backyard and the place has been shot up. Everyone’s rattled.”

“But Marley’s okay, right?” He needed to hear that part again. “Elizabeth and Marley—all of them—they’re fine?”

“Everyone’s fine, except the dead man.”

Yes, she’d mentioned a body. “Who is it?”

“They don’t know. Janet says he came out of nowhere to save them, and a tattooed guy, obviously the guy in the flyer you put out, must’ve shot him when he tried to get away.”

Myles asked a few more questions, but Nadine said Trudie couldn’t get any more out of Janet, who was crying and babbling hysterically. It was a miracle Brett, Trudie and Nadine had been able to piece together as much of the story as they had.

“I’m halfway there already,” he said, and almost disconnected.

Nadine stopped him. “Hang on. Trudie’s saying something. Sounds like Janet thinks Claire’s in trouble.”

That cold wave of terror he’d felt a moment before returned. He’d barely had time to let Marley’s safety sink in. Now he had to worry about Claire?

No, not Claire.
Vivian…

Claire was screaming. The sound scraped Vivian’s spine like nails on a chalkboard because she didn’t know what it meant. Had Claire been hit? Or was she just scared half to death?

She’d acted so casual all afternoon, as if she wasn’t even worried. She probably couldn’t imagine anything like this really happening, despite Vivian’s insistence that it could.