A Family Homecoming (15 page)

And how, she wondered, did he maintain that core of gentleness he showed to her and Sara when he had to deal with such men as these?

Listening to sounds of destruction as the men searched the attic rooms over her head, she struggled with the tape securing her wrists, the anger growing in her by the minute.

 

Kyle looked the neighborhood over as usual as he drove home. He slowed at a spot where he could see through the trees and checked the front of the house. Nothing unusual.

Driving past the street, he turned up the road that ran in back of the house and the empty field behind it. All calm there. Light glowed in the kitchen window as the shadows of twilight deepened.

The house beckoned him. It signaled warmth and human companionship. Sara and her chatter. And Dani.

He could no more resist the pull of her than the ocean could resist the pull of the moon. Every bit of feeling in him surged in a tidal wave of need toward her. She was the light that shone into the darkest reaches of his soul and kept him sane in a crazy world. She was the peace that made the worst nightmare bearable.

Living through the hell of worrying about Sara and her all the time forced him to see, up close, something of what she went through when he was on a case. He'd put her through two years of that.

When this was over, he'd get out of her life. If that was what she wanted. The dark pool bubbled and roiled, as if it waited to suck in his soul.

He would have to learn to live without her. He would have to watch her fall in love and marry another man…have his children…build a new life….

Slowing to a crawl, he stared hungrily at the house, wanting a glimpse of her as she bustled about the kitchen. She would be fixing dinner. Sara would be on the stool, talking up a storm now that she wasn't afraid to speak.

He peered at the house, but couldn't detect anyone moving around. There was a stillness about the place that prickled the hair at the back of his neck. His cell phone rang at that moment.

“Mitchell here,” he answered.

“Kyle, Shane. We just got a call on 911 from your place. Sara says the bad men have her mom. She's hiding. The men are looking for her. It must be the kidnappers. I'm on my way in an unmarked car. Rawlings and McCallum are, too. Cruisers are moving into position to block every street in the area.”

A howl of pain and rage echoed through his mind. Then it was gone. “Right. I'm on the road behind the house. Hold on and I'll check the place where they hid their truck when they came to the house before.”

He drove on down the county road.

“Yeah, it's here.” He gave the make, model and year of the pickup as well as the license number. “I'll block it in, then I'm heading for the house.”

“Right. We'll be there as soon as the rest of the men are in place and the roads blocked.”

Kyle rang off and pulled in close behind the
pickup. After letting the air out of its back tires, he headed for the house, keeping the garage between him and the house. The kidnappers had done the same thing. He walked in their prints until he reached the converted stables.

He checked the round of ammunition in his gun, then eased around the garage. Bending below the window level, he dashed for the house. He waited, listening.

There was no sound other than the wind through the trees. He wondered what had happened to the alarm. The remote receiver in the truck should have gone off when the men broke in. Unless they came in on Danielle after she was home and had turned it off.

She was valiant. She must have fought with them while Sara got away. One person didn't have much chance against two. She might be lying unconscious on the floor. She could be bleeding…shot….

He slammed the door on the worry. He couldn't afford to be distracted. Too much was at stake.

At the back door, he paused and listened. Still nothing. He eased the door open. Nothing.

He slid inside and silently closed the door. Weapon ready, he peered around the door frame.

Relief poured through him. Danielle sat with her back to him. She was working at the masking tape wrapped around her wrists.

“Dani,” he said quietly.

Her head whipped around. Her eyes widened. His name formed on her lips, but she uttered no sound. He put a finger to his mouth, then headed toward the hall.

“They're upstairs, looking for Sara,” she whispered.

They heard a crash and footsteps in the attic. The men must be searching through the odds and ends stored up there for Sara.

He turned back to quietly free Danielle before he went upstairs after the men. He holstered his gun and removed his pocket knife. Flicking a blade out, he reached for her bound wrists. She twisted around to watch.

“Be still,” he cautioned. “They taped you up pretty good. I'm going to have to go under the—”

He got no further. He heard a startled cry from Danielle then felt a shattering blow to the back of his head. He fought his way back from the brink of darkness.

He rose and turned at the same time, bringing his fist up and driving it with all his might into his assailant. The breath rushed out of the man as he caught the kidnapper in midsection. Unfortunately the blow didn't lay him out.

They grappled and rolled to the floor, each trying to get a paralyzing hold on the other. They were evenly matched. Kyle, his vision occasionally blurring, managed to keep a hold on the man's wrist and the gun pointed upward as they struggled.

“Back off,” another male ordered. “I'm gonna shoot.”

Kyle spared a glance at the new threat. The other kidnapper stood in the doorway, waving a gun at them. He winced as he took a blow to his rib cage, but he didn't let go of his assailant. The struggle in
tensified as the crook realized his partner was there to help.

Danielle stared in horror at the men on the floor. Kyle, blood running down his forehead, wrestled fiercely with Dillon, neither able to get the upper hand. Willie, pointing
his
gun at the men, shifted from one foot to the other in uncertainty.

“Back off,” Willie ordered, pointing the gun at Kyle.

The men on the floor ignored him.

She strained against the tape binding her hands but it was useless. She couldn't break fee.

Please, oh, please,
she said over and over, a litany begging for help, praying for his safety. Even if Kyle overpowered Dillon, Willie still had the gun. Given the desperate expression on his face, he might use it.

She struggled mightily and found she could lift the chair off the floor by throwing herself forward. That didn't help that she could see. She couldn't hop away, carrying the chair like a hermit crab searching for a safer place.

Oh, please.

At that moment, Kyle rolled on top. He held Dillon down and repeatedly smacked his hand against the floor until Dillon lost his grip and dropped the gun. Kyle knocked the weapon across the room. It skittered out of sight between the wall and the trash can.

Raising his arm, he drew back his fist, his left hand holding Dillon by the throat.

“Get off him or I'll shoot,” Willie shouted.

Danielle stared at the men. Willie's eyes held the wild look of a cornered beast. Fear scalded her heart. He was going to shoot.

She lunged forward until she was on her feet, the chair legs off the floor. Then as Willie screwed one eye closed and took aim, she threw herself headlong into him, taking him by surprise.

The gun went off at the same moment they went down in a heap. The noise was so loud, her ears rang and all other sounds receded into the distance, as if she were underwater.

A second or an eternity went by.

Willie tried to push her aside. She kept all her weight centered in his chest. With a final heave, he shoved her off him. She teetered on two legs of the chair, then fell in a heap on her side, whacking her head on the floor.

“My God, he's dead,” Willie said, horror in his voice. “I shot his face clean off.” He fainted.

Danielle tried to see, but Willie blocked her view. She could hear Willie breathing in gasps. And one other man.

She closed her eyes and gave a low moan of despair. “No,” she said. “No, no, no…”

T
he back door burst open. “Police! Don't anyone move!”

Danielle identified Rafe Rawlings as he entered the kitchen from the mudroom. Three other officers were behind him.

“Looks like we got here too late,” she heard Shane McBride say in a quiet tone. “Danielle, you okay?”

She felt hands at her wrists and others at her ankles. “Yes, I'm fine. Please. See about Kyle. He's hurt. Call an ambulance. Please.”

Please don't let him be dead. Dear God, please…”

“Please—”

“Dani, it's okay,” a soft masculine voice assured her. “I'm okay. It was Dillon who was shot.”

His face came into view. One eye was swollen almost shut. Blood followed several paths down his
forehead and temple and was smeared across the right side of his face. He had never looked so handsome.

“I thought…” she began, then had to stop. She swallowed. “I thought…”

“Shh. I know. It's okay.”

Her hands and feet were free. She sprang up from the floor and the overturned chair. Kyle crushed her in his arms. Willie stirred and groaned. Rafe hooked the man's wrists at his back with handcuffs.

She got a glimpse of Dillon Pierce, lying on the floor. Blood covered half his face. The other half looked peaceful and serene, as if he merely napped.

Kyle turned her from the scene and pressed her face into his shoulder. “It isn't a pretty sight.”

“I know.” She sighed shakily and wrapped her arms around his waist and held on. Her legs were trembling, causing tremors to race up her body in waves. “You're hurt,” she said, tasting blood when she licked her lips.

“It's nothing.”

“Okay, we're clear here,” Shane said into his radio. “Yeah, we need an ambulance. No need to hurry, though. Yeah, it's Dillon Pierce.” He looked over at her for confirmation.

She nodded. “Dillon Pierce and Willie Sparks. You were right,” she said to Kyle. “They wanted Sara—” Her breath was wrenched away. She pulled back from Kyle. “Sara! We've got to find her—”

Kyle caught her hand. “I think I know where she is. Come on.” He glanced at Shane, who nodded.

Together she and Kyle walked down the hall and into her office. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the mess. Her computer and the monitor were
smashed. An old ornate gilt mirror hanging over a bricked-up fireplace was on the floor, the mottled mirror cracked into a spiderweb of lines.

Kyle set her chair upright and moved it out of the way. He closed the drawers on the desk and shoved it aside, then he knelt and opened a tiny door in the side of the old fireplace. Sara sat huddled in a little ball. She blinked up at them, her eyes wide with worry.

“Mommy? Daddy?” she said. “Are we safe yet?”

“Yeah, punkin, we're safe,” Kyle told her and lifted her into his arms. The portable telephone dropped to the floor. He replaced it in its cradle, then he reached for Danielle and included her in a warm, heartfelt and very gentle bear hug.

“I did like you said,” Sara told them. “I hid.” She paused and looked ashamed. “But I forgot to call until I heard the phone ring.”

“But you did call,” Kyle reminded her.

“Yeah, but not till later. Willie and Dillon were in here so I couldn't come out. When I heard them upstairs, I comed…came out and got the telephone, then went back into the little closet.”

The “little closet” had been used to store firewood in the days before the fireplace had been bricked up. Danielle recalled seeing it when they moved in, then she'd forgotten about it because the desk blocked the small door from view.

“You did exactly right,” Kyle assured his daughter. With an arm around Danielle, he led the way back to the others, but steered them away from the kitchen and into the family room. “Stay in here,” he told
Danielle, placing Sara in her arms. “Until things are cleaned up.”

She thought of the kitchen and Dillon and the smear of blood on the floor where it had run down his neck. She wondered if the spot would ever come out. Or if it did, would she always see it there anyway, a grim reminder of this day of death and terror?

“That must be the ambulance,” he murmured when they heard a siren.

With a pat on her shoulder, he strode out. She sat in the recliner and held Sara, who had fallen silent and lay with her head on Danielle's breast as if she were tired from a hard day at play.

“Will Willie go to jail?” Sara asked at one point when they saw Willie being taken away in a police cruiser.

“Yes. It's a very bad thing to kidnap people or break in someone's home and scare them.”

“Were you scared?”

“Very much.”

Sara sat up and looked at her. “You grabbed Dillon and Willie and held on, even when Dillon hit you with the gun.”

That explained why her back ached in peculiar places. Also her head. Danielle didn't recall feeling the blows when they were delivered. All her efforts had been on holding the men until Sara got away.

“A person does what she has to,” she said and smiled at Sara, not to make light of the incident, but determined that it wasn't going to haunt her or her daughter's life. “I'm glad that you hid. Dillon would have caught up with you before you could get to Jenny's.”

“Daddy told me what to do. We practiced every day. Only I forgot the phone.” She was crestfallen.

“But you remembered later,” Danielle assured her. “And then you were very careful to make sure Dillon and Willie were someplace else before you came out. That was very smart. Daddy and I are very proud of you.”

 

From the window, Danielle saw the ambulance leave after the medics had examined her, Kyle and Sara. The rumble of men's voices in the kitchen and outside grew quieter. The patrol cars also left. A few minutes later, Kyle entered the family room.

“How about a pot of coffee?” he asked.

Danielle nodded. He took Sara from her. The three of them went to the kitchen. All traces of Dillon and the blood were gone. She cast Kyle a grateful glance, knowing he had done it. She put the coffee on and heated the rest of the coffee cake.

Standing at the sink, she saw Rafe Rawlings and a couple of other men stringing crime tape and going over the grounds. On the street she saw a reporter from the local paper calling questions to Rafe and taking notes. While she watched, a van with an antenna drove up. A man with a camera hopped out the back and started shooting pictures of the house and the policemen in the yard.

“There's a television van here,” she said.

“I suspect we'll be on the national news tonight,” Kyle told her. He put Sara on her stool and took his seat.

“Well, all in a day's work,” Shane said, entering
from the back door. He tossed a wry grin at Kyle's battered face. “You'll be real pretty in technicolor.”

Danielle had prepared an ice pack. She brought it over to him. “Let me see.”

He sat still while she gently put the bag of ice on it. He held it in place while she served the coffee and cake.

When she sat down, he reached over and touched her face. She winced a little, realizing she had a bruise there.

“Dillon?” Kyle asked.

“Oh, yes. He slapped me when I wouldn't tell him where Sara might have hidden. Thank you for practicing with her. It probably saved her life.”

An expression both fierce and tender came into his eyes. “You saved her life,” he corrected softly.

Warmth seeped into her and the last of the tremors subsided. She sighed and took a drink of coffee. It really was over. At last. Suddenly she wanted to lay her head on the table and bawl her eyes out.

Nerves. The fears of the last couple of hours, and months, catching up with her. She understood that. She willed the tears away.

“We'll need a statement from you and Miss Sara, the heroine here,” Shane said to Danielle.

“I'm a fairy princess,” Sara told them, her small face very earnest. “I pretended the mean ol' witch had put me in a magic cave and I couldn't get out until the prince came and broke the evil spell.” She smiled at her father. “Just like you told me in the story.”

“That's right.” Kyle tousled her hair. “You're a
perfect princess. The spell is broken and the bad men are gone. Forever.”

Shane got a call from Sterling. When he hung up, he grimaced in disgust, then said sympathetically. “The press is clamoring for the story. Are you three up to a statement? We'll keep it brief, just that the men broke in and held Danielle and Sara hostage, that Sara here called 911 and saved the day.” He grinned and tweaked Sara on the nose.

Kyle gave her a questioning look. She nodded. The sooner they got it all done, the sooner they could be alone. She swallowed against the knot in her throat. No hysterics now, she sternly ordered. It's over.

“We'll need a statement at headquarters, too. Sterling said tomorrow was soon enough for that.”

“Good.” Kyle stood. “Let's talk to the reporters, then we'll clean up the mess. Your office is pretty bad. I doubt if we can salvage anything.”

“I know. The inventory files are current, so I'm okay there. I can use a computer at the library to finish.”

“We'll get you a new one,” he declared firmly. “We'll see how good that homeowner's insurance policy is.”

They had a brief stint in front of the cameras—by now there were three vans in front of the house and a half dozen stringers for various newspapers around the country. A report had already gone out on the wire services from the first guys on the scene, she learned.

“It'll be a three-day wonder,” Kyle murmured to her as they returned to the house with questions still being fielded by Shane.

Rafe was in the kitchen with a camera crew. He'd
let them film a brief on the wrecked office and in the kitchen. When they entered, he made the crew leave the house.

“I've called a tow truck. We're impounding Willie's pickup. You want me to bring yours around to the garage here?”

Kyle nodded and tossed Rafe the keys to his pickup, which was blocking Willie's truck. “Thanks.”

Rafe flashed him a sympathetic smile in that silent communication of men and headed out. The house was quiet once more.

“I need to call Luke,” Kyle said.

Danielle nodded. “I'm going to straighten up.”

She and Sara started in the bedrooms. Kyle joined them in a few minutes. In a little over an hour, they were finished downstairs. Her office was the worst room. Kyle carted the trashed electronic devices to the garage for later disposal.

Upstairs, the men had gone through some old trunks in the attic and had tossed aside several boxes Danielle hadn't gotten around to unpacking. Kyle stacked the boxes neatly while she and Sara threw old clothes and newspapers in garbage bags. Sara found a long dress, its white lace yellowed with age and smelly with mildew, and immediately had to put it on and see how she looked. She ran downstairs to the bathroom mirror.

“I've been meaning to clean these out,” Danielle remarked to Kyle, gesturing toward the trunks. “The museum might be interested in some of the clothing. I want to refurbish the trunks and use them downstairs for storage and conversation pieces.”

“Good idea,” Kyle said absently.

He had stopped replacing items in one of the boxes that had broken open and was studying something, his face a mask of intense concentration. She went over to see what he had found that was so engrossing.

“Oh,” she said, seeing the album in his hands.

“Our wedding pictures.”

She stared at the pictures. She looked unbelievably young and naive, staring up at her handsome, serious and very new husband as if he were the sun and moon and stars wrapped in one.

Six years and two months ago.

She'd been a December bride. Her dress was a soft wool in winter white. He'd worn a dark suit. Her corsage of pink roses had been a gift from him, a thoughtful surprise. He'd worn a boutonniere of one pink rose.

It had been a quiet wedding in the minister's office. Danielle had brought her camera and the minister's wife had taken the pictures for them. They had eaten dinner with wine and candlelight at an expensive restaurant. Then they had returned to their small house.

“It seems so long ago,” she murmured. “I'd wondered where the pictures were. I couldn't find them—”

She stopped abruptly as emotions she'd carefully locked away in a small hidden place inside her rushed out like the unbound spirits of Hallow's Eve.

His eyes met hers.

“It was a long time ago,” he said softly. “A lifetime.”

She couldn't read anything in his gaze other than a quiet intensity that spoke to her of sadness, a re
morse for things past. She wondered if he regretted the marriage, knowing now that he should never have committed himself to that final step.

Turning away, she gathered the bags and tossed them down the stairs, one at a time.

“I'll take those to the garage,” he volunteered, still holding the album, that same quiet expression on his face.

“Thanks. I think I'll take a hot shower and change before starting dinner.” She managed a smile. “I ache in some odd places. You probably do, too. I won't be long in the shower,” she promised.

Once in the bathroom with the door safely closed—there was no key for the old-fashioned lock—she turned the water on full force, then stripped and climbed into the tub.

For a minute she stood there with her eyes closed and let the water cascade down her back. She swallowed and cleared her throat. She tried not to think, not to let the sadness overwhelm her. Finally she rested her arms against the tiles and hid her face in the crook of her elbow.

The tears came.

Once started, she couldn't stop them. She cried for all the dreams she'd once had, for the love that had built and built inside her, for all the tenderness that couldn't be shared because the person it belonged to had left.