Backstretch Baby (38 page)

He sprinted up the hill, fueled by adrenaline and a soul-sucking fear. A fear he hadn’t faced since Ben.
Joey will be okay
, he told himself, desperate for reassurance. There was no reason for Liam to hurt the boy, to hide that little body beneath the dank earth.

Liam didn’t even know anyone was coming.

He prayed the police would remain silent. Right now, Liam was probably confident of his escape. But if he heard wailing sirens, he’d realize the road below the farmhouse was blocked. He’d be cornered like a rat, with a rabid hatred for Eve and nothing to lose.

Rick’s lungs were straining and his legs ached, but he didn’t slow his ground-eating climb. Not until he reached the crest of the hill. He forced himself to stop and listen, taking precious seconds to picture the layout.

The farmhouse was approximately a hundred feet below, surrounded by a wide sweeping drive. Liam probably had his personal vehicle stashed there. No doubt, he’d been the one who dropped the beer cap. It was the perfect vantage point for a stalker. He’d known the best times to creep down to Eve’s barn and wreak havoc.

Rick peered over the rim. The entire area was deathly still, and for a moment he feared he was too late. But possibly Liam had stashed Joey in a bedroom, or the cellar…or somewhere else.

He gave his head a shake. Couldn’t let himself be weakened by thoughts of dirt and death and another innocent boy. Had to stay positive. Focused. Do his job.

I am going to find this kid in time.

But now his entire body was shaking, his muscles spasming with fear, and it had nothing to do with his frantic climb up the hill.

He took a deep breath, struggling to calm himself, then rose and eased toward the farmhouse.

A rusty lock hung on the front door, forlorn and caked with cobwebs. Brittle boards covered the windows. The porch was thick with undisturbed dust. He was too late. Obviously Joey wasn’t stashed inside.

From the back of the house a car door clicked. Then a voice rumbled.

He edged around the side of the house, pressing against the weathered wood, not sure if he was using the house for cover or if it was holding him up. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Liam was a snake. If he spotted Rick, the first thing he’d do would be to point the revolver at Joey. And threaten to shoot the kid.

He swallowed, hating the trembling in his body that he was powerless to control. He shouldn’t even be here. It would be impossible to free Joey safely. The boy could end up shot, merely because of Liam’s volatility.

At this point, it was best to wait for the police. They had negotiators who were better able to extract hostages. He could call and coordinate a rescue from his vantage point. They’d definitely order him to stand back. Which was what he wanted too.

He reached for the phone in his pocket then pressed back against the wall, struggling with his sense of worthlessness. And his indecision. But the last time he’d let orders overrule his instincts, Ben had been murdered.

Liam’s curt voice sounded again, and Rick couldn’t resist inching forward and peering around the corner.

A Nissan Maxima was parked behind the house, the nose of the sedan pointing toward the road. The trunk gaped open. Liam’s hand was clamped around Joey’s neck. The man was still in his khaki uniform, a gunbelt buckled around his hips.

Twenty-five feet away, Rick estimated. Much too far. He couldn’t do this.

Joey looked up, his eyes widening. Rick forced a reassuring nod and raised a finger to his lips just as Liam scooped up the boy. Rick expected Joey to call out, anybody would, but the boy never said a word. He just stared with hopeful eyes. Eve’s eyes.

“Stay quiet, kid,” Liam said, stuffing Joey into the trunk. “Or you’ll probably suffocate.”

He slammed the trunk with a satisfied grunt.

Rick stiffened. The boy wouldn’t last more than a few hours in the sweltering trunk. And Liam knew it. He probably intended to ditch the car and kid, steal a vehicle and flee to Mexico.

On the positive side, Joey was safe in the trunk, out of Liam’s reach. Now it was just between the two men.

He steadied his breathing, drew his knife from his boot and stepped out.

Liam wheeled in alarm, nostrils flaring. His eyes shot to Rick, then beyond, scanning the sides of the house, the empty hilltop. The alarm on his face disappeared, replaced with smug satisfaction.

“Looks like you’re alone,” Liam said.

Rick stepped closer, gauging the distance. Twenty feet now. He needed fourteen.

Liam unsnapped his holster.

“Better not,” Rick said, moving forward with slow but deceptively long strides.

Liam’s lip curled over his teeth in a feral grin. “Ever heard the joke about the idiot who brought a knife to a gunfight? Well you’re the fool—”

He was still sneering when Rick whipped his knife. The man’s cocky smile changed to a yowl of pain. His gun barely cleared his holster before it thudded harmlessly to the gravel.

“Goddamn.” Liam whimpered, clasping his shoulder and staring down in horror.

Rick glided forward. He wrapped one hand around Liam’s throat, the other around his shoulder, holding the man still while he pulled out his knife. It was his favorite, good metal, well balanced, and it fit perfectly in his hand.

He wiped the blade on Liam’s khaki uniform, ignoring the man’s shriek. Then replaced it in his boot sheath.

“Sonofabitch.” Liam groaned, clutching his bloodied shoulder. “Thought you were supposed to leave it in. Not pull them out.”

“Then they just get in the way,” Rick said. “I don’t want to chip it. Break the tip.”

Liam stared, uncomprehending, until Rick let loose with a flurry of fists. The guard was in bodybuilder shape, his stomach flat and knuckle hard. So Rick worked him over from the sides, thinking of Camila, the innocent babies, the countless families destroyed. But most of all, he thought of Eve.

Liam didn’t have much bottom. He kept dropping, trying to curl like a whipped rat, and that only angered Rick more.

He yanked Liam up and propped him against the hood. The man begged and blubbered like a baby, even though Rick took considerable care to stay away from his reddening shoulder.

“Those were for Camila,” Rick said, his mouth clenched. “Need a couple more, for what you did to Eve.” He draped Liam’s leg against the bumper then eased back to line it up.

“God, no.” Liam whimpered, twisting away. “Don’t break it.”

He picked Liam up by the shoulders and repositioned him against the bumper. “If you’re going to last in prison,” he said, shaking his head, “you’ll have to toughen up. Eve and her kid are braver—” He paused, his gaze shooting toward the trunk.

“Don’t move,” he said, cuffing Liam’s head.

He hurried around to the back of the car.

“Joey,” he said softly. “It’s Rick, your mom’s friend. Everything’s okay out here. We’re just talking. I’m going to open the trunk now.”

He clicked it open. Joey blinked up, his face drenched with sweat. Tear tracks smudged his cheeks. But the boy didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t move a muscle.

“It’s okay,” Rick said, reaching in and scooping him out of the stifling trunk. He knew he shouldn’t touch him, should let the boy come to him. But he couldn’t stand seeing Joey curled in that cramped space. It reminded him too much of being buried. Like the dead.

“You’re okay,” he said, his throat so tight the words hurt. “You’re safe now.”

Joey remained stiff and unspeaking.

“You’re safe now,” Rick repeated.

“I know.” Joey’s voice was a reed-thin whisper. “Because you saved me.” He sniffled once, as if trying to be stoic. Then his little face crumbled. He reached up and wrapped his arms around Rick’s neck, sobbing and wailing and burrowing his head into Rick’s chest.

Rick’s own face felt warped, his chest so twisted with relief he could scarcely breathe. But this was a different feeling from usual, when his lungs didn’t work and it felt like he was suffocating. On the other side of the car, Liam was groaning but the sounds faded, the man no longer important.

It was just Rick and the boy now, both clutching each other so tightly it was hard to know who was doing the actual holding. The sun beat down from a brilliant blue canopy and an eagle floated overhead, far removed from their struggles. The place was actually quite serene, no sound of sirens.

Police would be here soon though. And the aftermath would be brutal, with statements and recordings and prolonged interviews. And he’d deal with that, along with his reasons for going in. But right now he didn’t want to let Joey go. Even punishing Liam no longer mattered.

Joey’s crying turned to sniffs. “That man hurt my mom. It’s mean to h-hit.”

“Yes, but she’ll be okay.” Rick squeezed his eyes shut, wishing now he hadn’t given Liam such a thrashing. And his regrets had nothing to do with the police or possible liability, and everything to do with scaring Joey.

The boy had been in the trunk. He hadn’t seen anything but unfortunately Liam had been rather vocal, running the gauntlet from moaning to cursing to crying. And the sound of smacking flesh was unmistakable. Joey already didn’t like Rick. No doubt he’d be even more terrified. Any second now he’d shrink away.

The kid was quiet for a moment.

Then, “I don’t think you’re mean anymore,” Joey whispered, his voice muffled against Rick’s shirt.

Rick swallowed.

“I know grownups sometimes talk cross,” Joey went on. “So it’s okay if you come for supper. And talk mean.”

“Sorry,” Rick said, his voice thick. “I just worry about people…about children. I’ll work on that, okay?”

“That’s all right. Nanny talks cross sometimes too.” Joey peered up, wiping at his wet cheeks with his knuckles. “You can put me down now. I want to go home.”

“But we have to wait. The police will be here soon.”

“No.” Joey shook his head, every bit as stubborn and brave as his mother. “I don’t need any more help. And I have to go. Mommy will be worried.”

“But I need to wait for the police. And you can’t walk back alone.”

“The police will only want that man.” Joey looked at Liam then turned his head away. “But you can walk back with me. Then I won’t be alone.”

Rick thought for a moment, then gave a solemn nod. “Okay,” he said. “That’s a good plan.”

He set Joey on the ground and pointed him toward the hill. “I’ll just say good-bye to Liam and be right behind you.”

Joey nodded and started walking past the farmhouse. But his steps dragged and he kept checking over his shoulder, and it was clear he was a little spooked, despite his determination to find his mother.

Rick strode around the car, grabbed Liam’s arm and tugged him toward the back of the car.

Liam looked up, his voice fearful. “What are you doing? Are you going to break my leg?”

“Shut up,” Rick said, waving at Joey. “Don’t speak. Don’t scare the boy.”

He bent down, picked up Liam’s legs and jammed him into the trunk.

“Wait.” Liam tried to sit up, his voice rising. “You can’t do this. It’s too hot. Where are the police? I want the real ones.”

“Quit talking,” Rick said, shoving the man’s head back down. “Or you’ll probably run out of air.”

He clicked the trunk shut. Then he scooped Liam’s gun off the ground, stuck it in the back of his waistband and hurried after Joey.

The boy was waiting by the side of the farmhouse. He glanced at the car with solemn eyes. Then he reached up and took Rick’s hand.

“I can’t wait to see my mom,” he said.

Rick nodded, stunned by the gift of those tiny trusting fingers wrapped beneath his bruised knuckles. They walked several steps before he managed to speak.

“I can’t wait to see her either,” he said.

He shortened his steps to match Joey’s smaller ones. And together they climbed over the hill, their hands linked.

Eve’s cell phone rang just as the timer in the kitchen beeped. She grabbed the oven mitts, then tucked the phone between her shoulder and ear.

“Sorry to keep calling,” Ashley said. “I just wondered if they arrived yet?”

“Not yet.” Eve glanced out the window. The RV was parked a hundred feet from the farmhouse, but it was clearly empty.

“Megan said little Jessie’s close to walking,” Ashley said. “Do you think she’ll start tonight? Because the cupboards in the RV aren’t baby proof, and the floor might not be safe. Some of those cleaners have way too many chemicals.”

“Don’t worry,” Eve said, pulling a hot pan from the oven and filling the air with the smell of homemade biscuits. “Scott already took care of that. He sent in an eco-friendly cleaning company. And some other agency that makes sure everything is toddler safe. They’re the same people that put in the playground by the sandpit.”

“Oh, good.” Ashley blew out a relieved sigh.

Eve checked the biscuits with her left hand. Golden brown and flaky. Perfect. Juanita had been giving her cooking lessons, and the recipes were always delicious. It was a good thing they were quick and easy too, as Eve had never experienced such over-protective mothers. Ashley and Megan both needed oodles of reassurance, just like first-time horse owners.

But Ashley’s baby was definitely well loved. And the open adoption they’d agreed upon left everyone ecstatic. Megan and Scott cared for Jessie five days a week, and the other two days—when there were no races and the track was dark—Ashley walked up from the dorms and stayed with Jessie in the RV.

Of course, for those two days Megan and Scott could be counted on to meekly ask if they could stay in the farmhouse. Just in case Ashley needed any help. Which she usually did since her jockey career was on the upswing and trainers were always calling offering mounts.

“You’re still riding the filly for me Wednesday night?” Eve asked, grabbing a spatula and shifting the hot biscuits to a cooling rack. “Even though Jackson has been calling?”

“Definitely,” Ashley said. “I’m glad he’s single again and back in business but I told him to call my agent. You know I’ll always ride first call for you. You’ve made my life awesome.”

Eve just smiled, accustomed to Ashley’s effusiveness. Amazingly though, Megan said the same thing, only in a more refined manner. Eve couldn’t imagine sharing a baby, but it worked for them. Now Jessie had two doting mothers and a smitten dad. Ashley couldn’t have chosen better people.