Did You Miss Me? (60 page)

Thursday, December 5, 3.50
P.M.

Ford was in a haze, just coming out of whatever Doug had given him. His head felt like it was filled with cotton, hungover and hurting. He pushed himself to his knees, realizing he was in the back seat of Joseph Carter’s SUV. There was a cop standing near the SUV. Two cops. Standing guard.
What the hell?

And then it came rushing back – his mother getting out of the SUV . . . The needle in his arm . . . The state trooper who—

My God
. It was the trooper.
He drugged me
. The knowledge came at almost the same time as he realized he was alone in Carter’s SUV.

‘Mom?’ His heart stopped.
She was gone
.

He scrambled to sit upright, fighting the nausea that had plagued him every time he clawed his way back to consciousness. The first thing he saw was Beckett’s garage, the one that hurt his mother so much to return to.

Deacon stood near the door into the garage, his hand gripping Tasha’s collar. Tasha had been in the back of Deacon’s SUV.
Deacon must have let her out
.
Why?

Joseph Carter was standing in front of the door into the garage, a woman standing behind him. The woman had a rifle on her shoulder. Joseph had his gun drawn too, but the agent had his cell phone in his other hand and was holding it near the door.

What the hell?

Then . . . all hell broke loose and Ford had no idea what was going on. Joseph kicked in the door, then dropped to one knee, his arm coming up at the last moment, pointing the gun into the garage. And then he fired. And so did the woman.

Mom
. His mother was in that garage.
With Doug
.

Ford yanked at the SUV’s door, welcoming the bracing bite of the cold wind as the door opened. He threw himself forward, landing in the snow. He was fully awake now.

‘Mom!’ he screamed. ‘
Mom!
’ He pushed himself up and lurched forward, running on feet that felt like they were being stabbed by a million knives. He didn’t care. Panic propelled him and he charged the door into the garage, only to be stopped by Deacon.

Deacon grabbed his arm and pulled him back. ‘Your mom’s okay. Doug’s dead, but your mom’s okay.’

Ford pushed in front of the woman with the rifle. She stepped back, allowing him to look inside. Horrified, he did.

Doug had been hit by the gunfire, but his mother was okay.
She’s okay
.
She’s not hurt
. Joseph had pushed Doug’s body off her and was now kissing her like he owned her, and Ford felt the hackles rise on his neck. He wanted to yank the federal agent away from his mother, but she was kissing him back so Ford stayed where he was.

Deacon clasped his shoulder. ‘She’s all right.’

‘Oh my God. Deacon.’ Ford’s knees went wobbly and he started to fall. Deacon grabbed one of his arms, the woman who’d fired the rifle the other. They helped him to a folding chair that had been positioned in the snow.

‘This is Agent Coppola, Ford. She fired one of the shots that freed your mom.’

‘Thank you,’ Ford said hoarsely.

‘You’re welcome.’ Coppola crouched beside him, studying his eyes. ‘You okay?’

‘Just woke up when I heard the guns,’ Ford muttered.

‘Doug drugged him again,’ Deacon explained.

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘You have a right to look hungover then. Hell of a way to wake up.’ She rose, then pointed behind a laptop which had been set up on a makeshift table made from a stack of plastic storage boxes.

The boxes had been in the back of Deacon’s SUV when they’d stopped to get Tasha after springing Ford out of the hospital. Ford had thought his mother might need the comfort of petting the dog once she came out of the bunker, since there would be no horses for her to brush.

‘I’ll put Lynch in the back seat of one of these cruisers,’ Coppola told Deacon. ‘We’ll have to figure out how to get him back to Baltimore.’

From behind the stack of boxes, she dragged a man to his feet. He was cuffed, hands behind his back. His butt was covered with snow, his shirt with dried blood.

Ford’s eyes widened. ‘Hal? What the . . . Hal?’ It was Hal Lynch. He’d been a friend of his mother’s for years. He’d been a friend to Ford as well, taking him to ball games, playing catch with him when he’d been small.
Hal?

‘Seems like Hal is Doug’s stepfather,’ Deacon said.

Ford’s eyes widened further. ‘How? I didn’t even know he had a stepson.’

‘He’s got two stepsons,’ Deacon told him as Coppola escorted Hal to a police car, ‘and one biological son. It’s quite a story, but I’ll give you a day to rest up before I give you all the details. Just sit for now.’

Ford obeyed, staying that way until his mother appeared through the door of Beckett’s garage, walking on her own, Joseph Carter’s arm tight around her.

Ford came to his feet, watching every step she took. When his mother saw him, she threw her arms around his neck. ‘They got Doug. We’re okay.’

‘They shot at you.’

‘At Doug. I don’t have a scratch on me. I’m fine, I’m really fine.’

And then everyone started to talk at once. Deacon had told him that Clay had found Kimberly and Cole Lynch, Doug’s little brother. Cole had led them to Doug’s house, where he’d shown them a number of hiding places. In one of them was Pamela MacGregor who was now on her way to a Baltimore hospital, suffering from exposure and extreme dehydration.

Kimberly had been arrested, but she was at a hospital now too. Doug had stabbed her the night he’d kidnapped them. They’d found her sleeping in his condo, in his mother’s bed, feverish and exhausted. And damned if Ford didn’t feel sorry for her.

But nobody needs to know that but me
.
Because that’s just damned pathetic
.

Everyone had been found. Except for Beckett. He was still out there and none of them could rest as long as he was free.

Ford squinted again, staring at Hal who was sitting in the back of the police cruiser. The man was staring at the trees, just past the line of cars parked along the drive.

Someone was there, in the woods. Another man. He was hiding in the trees, moving parallel to his mother and the others, who were walking toward the line of emergency vehicles. The man paused long enough for Ford to see long gray hair.

Wilson Beckett
. Within him something snapped. Ford started to run, around the side of the garage, close to the cabin, toward the trees where Beckett lurked. From the corner of his eye, Ford saw an axe propped against the front wall of the cabin – the axe that Beckett had tried to use to kill Ford that first day.

Ford grabbed the axe and charged the treeline. He stopped thinking of anything but Beckett and crashed into the old man, knocking him to the ground.
Wilson Beckett
.

Beckett fought, grabbing for the axe, lurching forward, fighting like a wildcat. He bucked, trying to throw Ford off him. Ford pressed the axe handle into Beckett’s throat, as he’d done days before.

And just as suddenly as he’d charged, Ford felt the energy drain from him. Beckett got in a good punch and Ford saw stars. Wavy stars. He blinked hard and Beckett grabbed the axe, rolling out from under him, shoving Ford away.

And then Ford was on his back, looking up at Beckett who held the axe high over one shoulder.
He’s going to kill me
.

He could hear shouts, but they seemed far away. All he could see was that axe coming down. But the axe swung off to the side as Beckett howled with pain.

Tasha
. She was growling, her teeth sunk into Beckett’s thigh. Beckett swung the axe at Tasha, but fury gave Ford his second wind. He came to his feet, grabbed the axe and hit Beckett with the handle, as hard as he could.

Beckett dropped like a rock and Ford went down with him. He rammed the axe handle against Beckett’s throat again, leaning into him with every ounce of his weight.

‘You,’ Ford hissed, barely feeling a sting when his knuckles connected with Beckett’s jaw. ‘You did this. You took her. You hurt her. You hurt them all.’

‘Ford.
Ford!
’ His mother’s voice broke through the haze. ‘Ford, stop!’

I don’t want to
.
I want him to die
. Ford stared down into malevolent eyes. An open, gasping mouth. Dirty hands that closed around the axe handle, pulling with desperation.
Beckett will die today
.

‘Ford. Stop. Please, son.’ Ford looked up into his mother’s face, inches away. She knelt behind Beckett’s head, her hands gripping Ford’s shoulders. ‘Don’t do this. Don’t ruin your life over him.’

‘He hurt you. He deserves to die.’

‘You’re right. But he’s not ours to kill. Think about all those families whose daughters aren’t ever coming home. They deserve to have their voices heard. They deserve justice. If you kill him now, they won’t get that. And you’ll go to prison. Let him go, Ford.
Let him go
.’

Her words sank in, past the red haze of fury. She was right. Ford knew she was right. ‘Back up, Mom.’

His mother stood, backing up a few feet, and Ford set the axe to one side. He caught the old man’s wrists, pinning them over his dirty gray head. Beckett gasped for air, hate in his eyes. He continued to struggle and Ford had balled up his fist to hit him again when Joseph Carter appeared in his field of vision.

Joseph squeezed Ford’s shoulder. ‘It’s over, son. You can let him go. I’ll take it from here. Daphne, honey, call off Tasha.’

His mother did and Tasha backed away, still growling. Ford heard a click and, looking over his shoulder, saw that Deacon had snapped a leash on Tasha’s collar.

Ford pushed to his feet, noticing with satisfaction that Joseph was none too gentle as he cuffed Beckett. The Fed hauled the old man up and shoved him face first into a tree, leaning forward to whisper in his ear, ‘Fight
me
. Resist. Just a little. Please.’

‘Go to hell,’ Beckett snarled.

Ford glanced at his mother. She’d crossed her arms over her chest, shivering. Her worried eyes didn’t leave Joseph. She was afraid he’d kill the man.

Ford understood where Joseph was coming from. Beckett turned his head, letting his gaze rake lecherously down his mother’s body, and Ford had to clench his fists to keep from hitting him again.

‘You grew up real nice, little Daphne,’ Beckett drawled. ‘I’d say you’re done cooking now. I wonder how you’d taste.’

A warning look from Joseph had Ford shoving his clenched fists into his pockets.

His mother paled, but didn’t back down. ‘I’m no longer a defenseless child you can torment, Mr Beckett. I think you’d best be afraid of me.’

Beckett didn’t look afraid. He looked amused. ‘What did you think of your picture, little Daphne? I saw you stumble out, crying your eyes out. Didn’t you like my gallery?’

She frowned at him, more confused than angry. ‘Why? Why did you take us?’

‘Kelly wanted me. You would have soon enough. I just gave her what she wanted.’

Ford had to close his eyes. He wanted to kill the man. He didn’t know how Joseph could stand there so calmly. Until he looked at Joseph’s face. It was a wonder the man didn’t break his teeth, his jaw was clenched so tightly.

But his mother had seemed to forget they were there. All her focus was on Beckett. He was her nightmare, Ford understood. This was her chance to face her worst fear.

‘What about the others?’ she asked. ‘Did they “want it” too?’

Beckett smiled at her. ‘Which others?’

His mother’s eyes widened. ‘The twenty-four others on your wall?’

‘Which ones specifically?’ Beckett mocked. ‘The six before you were fifteen or the eighteen after? Because the six before were just time passers while I waited for you to cook.’ His mother blanched and Beckett grinned. ‘The eighteen after were substitutes. I couldn’t have you, so I had to make do.’

His mother swallowed hard, blinking. She looked like she wanted to flee. Ford started to go to her, but was once again stopped by a warning look from Joseph.

Then something changed. His mother’s expression went from one of fear to one of understanding. ‘I bested you,’ she murmured. ‘I got away. An eight-year-old girl outsmarted you. You’re not my biggest nightmare. I’m yours.’

Beckett’s smug grin faltered, just for a moment, and then it was back, but weaker. ‘You flatter yourself.’

‘Maybe. But it works for me and that’s all I need to know. Let’s go home, Ford.’

Joseph gripped Beckett’s coat and shoved him forward. When they’d started walking toward the car, Ford met Joseph’s eyes. ‘Thank you,’ he murmured.

Joseph gave him a hard nod. ‘Same goes, both on catching him and not killing him. That took discipline. Your mom is lucky to have you.’

Ford thought his mother was lucky to have found Joseph, too. He hoped so. She’d been alone for so long. She deserved to be happy.

Thursday, December 5, 4.30
P.M.

Feeling hollowed out, Daphne watched as Joseph shoved Beckett into the back of one of the Wheeling PD squad cars. McManus would take him into custody.

‘My boss has already contacted the Liptons,’ McManus said. ‘He was the one who coordinated the search when she went missing and had to give them all the bad news when we had no leads. This was one phone call he was happy to make. I’ll keep you all apprised.’

He got in his car and drove away with a wave. There were two other cops in his car – one in the front and one in the back. Both had weapons trained on Beckett. Two additional squad cars escorted them. Nobody was taking any chances of Beckett’s escaping.

Daphne looked around. ‘Where’s Tasha?’

Deacon pointed to the Escalade. ‘I put her in the back of Joseph’s SUV, Daphne. That is one righteous dog. I might get one.’

‘Just to round out the whole badass look,’ Daphne said lightly. She pointed to his black leather trench coat. ‘Her coat would accessorize yours nicely.’

Deacon grinned. ‘Never underestimate the look.’

Joseph wrapped his arm around her shoulders. ‘Let’s get you guys back to Wheeling. I don’t know about you, but I want to drink a cold beer and sleep for a week.’