7
K atie checked on Sam, then sat down with a cup of coffee after putting some more logs in the fireplace. The fire made the living room warm, shadowy, and cozy. It was as if she’d commanded it to happen. Her cell rang. “Sheriff Benedict here.”
“This is Agent Hodges, Sheriff. I just got a call from Agent Ashburn. The van is a gunmetal gray Dodge, full license is LTD 3109, registered to Mr. Beauregard Jones of Alexandria, Virginia. Is this one of the men?”
“Sam said his name was Beau, so bingo, Agent Hodges, it sounds like you guys nailed it. Excellent.”
“Agent Ashburn said he was heading out to Alexandria himself to check it all out. He’ll let us know what he finds.”
“Good. How close are you to me?”
“We’re only another half-hour, maybe. Unfortunately, Sheriff, we just blew a back tire a few minutes ago. It’ll take us a while to get rolling again.”
She shut down her cell and leaned back. Why had Fatso and Beau stayed in the area? Why would Beau go to the local pharmacy? Were they idiots?
If bandages from the first-aid section of the pharmacy would take care of Fatso, then she hadn’t hurt him very badly. Or maybe it was a bad wound and they were trying anything they could get their hands on.
Where were they holed up? Not at Bleaker’s cabin, the place was nailed down tight, police tape over the windows and a deputy outside. But where had they gone? Just stayed in the van? She raised her head, frowned and listened. She heard the rain, nothing but the rain, and the wind battering tree branches against the house.
She got up, checked on Sam and Keely. They were both still sound asleep. She lightly touched her palm to Sam’s forehead. No fever.
She stood there, looking down at the boy, thinking there was nothing else to do until everyone arrived. Then her breath caught. She knew why the men were still in town, and it wasn’t because Fatso was too badly hurt to be moved. No, they still were after Sam. Was there that much money involved?
She pulled her SIG Sauer out of its holster on the top shelf of her closet, shoved it in the back of her blue jeans, and pulled a loose sweatshirt over it. Then she checked her ankle holster, where her two-shot derringer was held tight. If anything happened, she was ready.
All right, you bastards, come to Mama.
Her heart raced. She could feel her skin, smell the oak trees as the winds whipped through them, even hear the soft crackle of a single ember in the fireplace.
She pulled out her cell to call over some deputies as she walked to the living room window, everything inside her alert and ready, and pulled back the drapes. She very nearly fell over. A man’s face was staring in at her. He looked as surprised as she was, but his gloved fist slammed through the window, and in that hand was a gun, pointed right at her chest.
“Don’t even think about moving, lady.”
She dropped her cell phone. Could she get to her gun before he killed her? No, probably not. “You’re Beauregard Jones, I take it?”
“Shit! How do you know who I am?”
“Law enforcement is pretty good nowadays, Mr. Jones. Just about everybody in Jessborough knows who you are. The FBI is already at your place in Alexandria and more agents will be here in about three minutes.” She looked behind Beau. “Where’s Fatso?”
“You just shut up, lady.”
“I’m not a lady, I’m the sheriff. Surely you know that. How’d you find out where I lived? What’s the matter? Is Fatso hurt so bad he can’t help you anymore?”
“Shut your trap, no, wait, back up, just back up. Nail your ass to that spot and don’t move or I’ll kill you and that cute little girl won’t have a mommy any longer.” He kept the gun pointed at her as he broke the rest of the glass in the window. Then he stepped through.
When he stood dripping water on her grandmother’s prized Aubusson carpet, he looked her up and down, glanced over at the fireplace and said, “You’ve given us lots of trouble, Sheriff. And here you are, looking all tousled and frumpy like any good little housewife on a Saturday night.”
She was aware of her SIG Sauer nestled against her back, the derringer pressed against the ankle holster. “I haven’t begun to give you trouble, Mr. Jones.”
He gave her a big grin, all big white crooked teeth, the two front ones overlapping, just like Alice had said. “I like a girl with a big mouth. Fatso’s real name is Clancy and he doesn’t like people bugging him about that gut of his. But no matter. He’s waiting for us in the van. You’ll meet him soon enough. Go get the boy.”
Beau realized in that instant that it wasn’t a good idea to let her go off by herself. She didn’t look at all tough, and she looked real young, what with her hair pulled back with a tie and no makeup on her face. But she had to have something going for her, they’d elected her sheriff of this hick town, after all. He’d been watching her through the window, watching her eyes just like his daddy had taught him before he’d gotten himself blown away during a bank robbery down in Atlanta. His daddy would have called those eyes of hers hard, the kind that saw way down deep into you, and he’d never want to drink a beer with her. He hadn’t realized how his daddy would have hated her eyes until he’d seen her up really close. He thought she knew things, thought things, that he couldn’t.
Beau wasn’t about to take any chances with her, not with those eyes. “Wait,” he said, “you walk ahead of me, don’t make no sudden movements or I’ll have to put a bullet in your back. You got that?”
Katie fanned her hands and said, “I got it.”
“Let’s go.”
“I don’t understand something, Mr. Jones.”
“Walk, Sheriff, stop trying to slow things down. You might be right about the FBI coming, but hey, they’re clowns, everybody knows that.”
“I didn’t know that. Why do you think they’re clowns?”
“Just shut up.” He waved the gun. “Move, now.”
Katie walked out of the living room into the small front hallway. She said over her shoulder, “I told you that the FBI knows who you are, and they’re on their way here right this minute. You also know they’re not clowns. If you don’t get out of here now, you’re going to be in the deepest trouble imaginable. There’s really got to be a lot in it for you to make you come here for the boy. Somebody’s paying you and Fatso lots of money, right?”
“Shut up, Sheriff. Keep walking, or I’ll just shoot you and get him myself. Hey, I just might take the little girl, too. Bet I could get some loot for that cute little button.”
“Yes, there must be big bucks in this for you and Fatso to take this kind of risk.” In ten steps, she’d be at the guest room door. And Sam was inside.
Beau grunted. “Keep moving.”
She had to do something, had to do it soon. It was up to her, not the FBI, not anybody else. But he was holding what looked like a 10mm Smith amp; Wesson pistol, a good weapon. Patience; she had to be patient. There was lots of time before he got hold of Sam.
She opened the door of the bedroom slowly.
The room was dark-and cold. It was very cold, she could feel the wind touching her cheek. The light switch flicked on behind her.
“Damn! Where are you, boy? You come out here now or I’ll kill the sheriff!”
“The room’s cold,” Katie said, turning to face Beau, so relieved she wanted to dance. “Don’t you see? Sam heard you coming and went out through the window.”
“No, that’s impossible. He’s just a little kid-”
“Yeah, sure, and he went out the window at Bleaker’s cabin, too, got away from you and Clancy. He’s long gone now, Beau. Just feel how cold it is in here. You’d best get your butt out of here now before the FBI comes and hauls it off to jail.”
Beau didn’t know what to do. He eyed the open window, the rain whipping the light drapes into the room, the wind making him shiver. “Gonna ruin the floor, all that rain,” he said. He waved the pistol at her. “Go close the window.”