Dirty Secrets (13 page)

Her eyes narrowing in trepidation, Megan obeyed, sawing the rope until Emma’s hands and feet were free. As she’d expected, Jerry never moved. Just stood in his guilty paralysis, holding his gun. Emma slowly rose to her feet and gently pried the gun from Jerry’s fingers. He never put up the minutest of struggles.

She put her finger over her lips, signaling Megan to silence. “We need a diversion,” she breathed. “For now I want you to continue begging for Jerry not to kill you.”

But Megan just looked at her wide-eyed and silent. They now had ten minutes to plan before Hudson came in. Fewer if he got impatient or suspicious at the silence.

“Dammit, Jerry,” Emma said loudly. “She’s your godchild. She trusts you.” Megan stared at her as if she were poleaxed. “You changed her diapers for God’s sake. You can’t let Andrews have her. You can’t.” With that she moved to Andrews’s desk. There was no phone.

Phone
. Jerry had taken her cell and put it in his pocket. Emma plunged her hands in his jacket pockets as he looked at her with all the life of a mannequin. Triumphantly she found her phone and dialed 911 and told the operator everything she knew. Then she handed the phone to Megan. “Just hold it. Hopefully they can trace us here.”

Returning to Andrews’s desk, she cautiously opened a drawer to find a pair of mud-covered shoes and a set of rolled-up blueprints. Another drawer yielded pencils and pens. Damn, she thought. It was a construction site. Was it too much to hope for a few sticks of dynamite? But realistically, those would be locked up, she knew. There had to be something here she could use.
Something
. She slid open the final drawer, exposing a nearly full bottle of vodka.

Very good vodka. Absolut. One hundred proof. And very flammable. She remembered the gravel that crunched under her feet. Given the proper propulsion, the gravel would blow like leaves under a leaf blower, and when it came down, it would rain like hail. Hopefully it would be enough to distract the ten men Jerry said were outside with Hudson and Andrews. Emma grabbed Jerry’s shirt and sliced a long thin strip with the knife. Even then he said nothing. It was almost as if he was beyond consciousness.

Carefully Emma doused the strip of cotton with the vodka, then just as carefully threaded the strip into the mouth of the bottle. Jerry’s matches were still on the desk and she grabbed them, her tool set complete. She gripped Jerry’s gun in her right hand, her makeshift Molotov cocktail in her left.

Megan was watching her, a light of cognition in her eyes. “You’re going to light it and throw it,” she breathed.

“And hopefully buy us some time. Your job is to hold on to that cell phone. Don’t let it get hung up. And if it does, redial. Understand?”

Megan nodded. “I understand.”

“And Megan. If something happens to me, you keep running, you understand me? Run and use that phone to call for help.”

Megan drew a breath. “I understand.”

“Then let’s go. Jerry, are you coming?”

He blinked. Just blinked. Emma sighed. “Then it’s just you and me, Megan. Stay behind me and when we get out, you run like hell.”

Quietly Emma pulled the door open an inch. Hudson stood with his back to the door, staring at the trees that lined the gravel. There was another trailer next to this one. A Jeep was parked about ten feet away, between the two trailers. She couldn’t see Jerry’s SUV. She’d handled guns before, tagging along when Will had taken up target shooting as a hobby. But shooting a paper target was different from a breathing man. She’d never shot anyone before. Never even considered it. Well, except for meting retribution on the punk that killed Will. But that was a revenge fantasy. This was very, very real. There would be emotional fallout, she knew. Taking the life of another . . . But she’d cross that bridge when she came to it.

Praying for calm, she leveled the gun at Hudson’s back and quickly pulled the trigger. Once, twice. Three times. The shots cracked like cannon. In seconds they would be overrun. Andrews would come back.
Hurry, Emma, hurry.
Hudson managed to turn after the third shot and lunged. Her fourth shot hit him squarely in the chest. Gurgling, he dropped to the ground, his body covering the wooden stairs.

“Megan, run!” Uncertainly, Megan stepped over Hudson. “Dammit,” Emma hissed. “Run, girl!” But Megan stared, the cell phone clutched in her hand. Her own hands shaking, Emma trapped the gun under her arm and lit the match. Held it to the vodka-soaked cotton, waited a full second.

Then aiming at the Jeep parked just outside the trailer, threw it with all her might. The bottle shattered on impact. And Emma grabbed Megan’s hand and ran like hell.

Andrews emerged from the other trailer, and Emma might have enjoyed the look of stunned shock on his face had she more time. The gun in her hand again, Emma dragged Megan as shouts filled the air, shouts to
get them, get them
. They’d gone about fifty feet when a huge explosion rent the air. She tackled Megan, knocking her to the ground, covering Christopher’s daughter with her own body, wincing as debris showered down, pelting her back. Gravel stung, hot metal burned, but they weren’t dead. “Do you have the phone?”

“Yeah,” Megan grunted.

“Then get up and run!”

“I don’t think so, Dr. Townsend.” The shout stopped them both in their tracks.

Emma rose, turned and found herself staring into the barrel of Andrews’s gun. It was a .38, much bigger and more powerful than her .22. She pulled Megan behind her, but the girl was already half a head taller than she was, so the gesture meant little.

“Drop your gun, Dr. Townsend.
Now.
”

* * *

Harris grabbed his radio at the dispatcher’s call. He was less than a mile from the site where Grayson’s SUV had been tracked. “Harris.”

“A 911 call has been received from the same coordinates as the tracked SUV. It’s Townsend and Megan Walker is with her. We’ve heard gunfire and an explosion.”

Harris surveyed the sky. “I see the smoke. How many units are here?”

“Ten. Five more are on their way. Sirens silenced.”

“Thanks.” Harris hooked his radio back in its bracket. He pulled his car alongside the line of radio cars that had responded to the call. “What happened?”

A county cop came forward, frowning. “We don’t know. We just got here when something through those trees just exploded.”

Harris spotted Phillips and beckoned him over. “Is the SUV still in position?”

“It’s there. Whether the lady and girl are with it, that’s anybody’s guess. We called the fire department, Wes. If this fire gets going, it could spread to all these woods and the winter’s been so dry . . . This whole area will go up like a tinderbox.”

Harris raised his hand, getting the attention of all the responding officers. “People! If you see fire coming your way, don’t go further. The last thing we need is to send the fire department in to rescue trapped law enforcement. You’re looking for a woman and a little girl. Thirty-four and thirteen. The girl’s name is Megan and she’s probably scared stiff. The lady’s name is Emma. Be careful and let’s go.”

* * *

Christopher brought his car to a stop at the tail end of a long line of police cars. Common sense told him to stay put, that he was more likely to get shot by a cop than to do any real good. He stared at the thick black smoke, his heart going a mile a minute.

My baby’s in there. Megan.

Emma.

He pulled his shirt over his mouth and moved toward the trees.

* * *

Emma drew a labored breath. Thick black smoke rose from the burning Jeep, burning her lungs, but the discomfort was nothing compared to the sight of Andrews and his gun. If the call to 911 worked, the police could be on their way by now. If not, she was on her own. So to his demand to drop her gun she said, “No.”

Andrews’s brows rose. “No?”

“I said no. You’ll kill me either way, so I’d be insane to give up my only hope of escape.” She clutched the gun in her hand, feeling its weight. “I killed Hudson. I don’t have anything to lose. So, no, I won’t drop my gun. You’ll have to shoot me.”

He lifted his hand and she could actually see his fingers squeezing the trigger when a dark blur came from the right, barreling into Andrews, sending him flying to his back.

Jerry stood before him, chest heaving. “You will not touch that girl,” he hissed.

Fury on his face, Andrews stared up at Jerry. And pulled the trigger.

Jerry dropped like a rock and Emma cried out, covering Megan’s eyes with her hand. Megan’s scream rent the air.

“Jerry. No.”
She tried to pull out of Emma’s arms, but Emma held her firm. Turned her the other way. And pushed with all her might.

“Run, Megan.”

She could hear Megan stumbling behind her, moving away. She wasn’t running yet but Christopher’s daughter was at least moving. Andrews was struggling to his knees, shaking his head. Jerry must have knocked the wind out of him.
Well, I’ll knock out the rest
. She pointed the gun straight at his chest and squeezed, catching her breath at the crack of the bullet. At the rapidly spreading red stain in the middle of his chest.

With a roar of indignation Andrews lurched to his feet, stumbling a few steps closer. Emma backed away, matching his pace.
He’ll fall down soon. He’s bleeding. Why isn’t he falling down? Why isn’t he dead?

She fired again, flinching at her gun’s recoil that hadn’t hurt the first few times, but her shoulder was now sore. Then the soreness in her shoulder was simply eclipsed by the ripping, excruciating burning in her gut. She looked down at her stomach as her legs buckled. She was on her knees, staring at her own body. At Christopher’s sweatshirt. Christopher’s sweatshirt was growing wet and dark. Blood.

He shot me. God, it hurts
. Nausea roiled and she fought it. Because he was coming closer. Andrews was coming closer.

Christopher was running, his eyes scanning the ground for some trace of them. Some sign they’d been there.
My baby. Jerry has my little girl.

Jerry. His heart threatened to break even as it pounded against his ribs. His foot caught on a root, sending him crashing to the ground. Not stopping, he forced himself to his feet, skidding along the pine needles.

His rampaging heart nearly stopped when he saw her.
Megan
. She was thrashing, pulling herself free from branches that tangled in her hair. Sobbing, panting. Breathing.

Alive.
He ran to her, grabbed her in his arms. Was shocked when she fought him, clawing and screaming. “Baby, baby, it’s me. It’s me. It’s Daddy. Megan, it’s me.” He rocked her in his arms. Felt her stiffen, then sag as she recognized his voice. He supported her as she crumbled, sobbing wildly.

“He’s dead. Jerry’s dead. He shot him. He’s dead.”

He.
“Who, baby? Where’s Emma?”

“He’s got her. He’ll k-k-kill her.”

Christopher stilled. “Jerry has her?”

“No!” Megan screamed. “Didn’t you hear me? Jerry’s dead. I saw him. He shot him and he died.” Her fists pounded his chest and Christopher held on. “She’s still there. She made me run. I was so scared, Daddy.” She convulsed into a terrifying spasm of sobbing and Christopher grabbed her shoulders and pulled her face back.

“Megan, listen to me.
Listen.
Is Emma alive?”

Megan shook her head, gasping for air, her body shaking with the force of her weeping. “I’m sorry, Daddy. She made me run. I couldn’t do anything.”

Christopher gut turned to water. “Stay here.” He pulled her behind a tree, made her lie flat on her stomach. “Stay here. Don’t move, Megan. I’ll be back.” He dug for his cell phone and dialed Harris. “Where the hell are your men?”

“Where the hell are you?” Harris shot back, breathing hard. He sounded like he’d been running.
Run faster.

“I’m at the south end of the woods. Back from the line of police cars.” Christopher squinted at the sun, high in the sky, but not straight overhead. “A quarter-mile southwest of the road. My daughter is here, Harris. Emma Townsend is still inside.”

“Walker, stop right there.”

But the crack of gunshots tore the air and Christopher was running again, following the path of broken branches Megan had left behind. His heart in his throat.

Andrews was coming closer. On his knees, crawling. One hand clutching his chest, the other his gun.

He’ll kill me now.

It hurts.
She wanted to curl up and cry. But she didn’t. She wasn’t dead yet. But neither was he. She wouldn’t give up.

“No.”
Saying the word aloud gave her strength when she would have sworn she had none left. Hands shaking, she lifted the gun. It was heavy. God, so heavy.
It must weigh a thousand pounds.
The thought was airy, it echoed in her mind.

I’m losing blood. I’ll die here
. She gritted her teeth.
Then so will he
. Closing her eyes she squeezed the trigger. And felt nothing. Heard nothing but an empty click.

Andrews laughed, his breath wheezing from his chest. Rattling. “Next time you steal a gun . . .” He drew a labored breath. “Make sure it has a full . . . magazine. Like mine.”

Slowly he extended his arm. His whole body shook, but at this range, he couldn’t miss.
Megan, please get away. Please.
She could only watch, unable to move, unable to look away. Then Andrews crumpled into a heap.

Emma blinked, her limbs heavy.
He finally fell down
. It was getting dark.
It can’t be dark. It’s only noon. Dammit.

Christopher threw the rock to the ground and wrested the gun from the unconscious man’s fingers. He was bleeding badly, whoever he was.

But so was Emma. She’d collapsed just as he’d run up behind the man with the gun. Now she lay on her side, his gray sweatshirt dark with blood. She was so pale.
The blood is hers. My God. She’s been hit.

He dropped to his knees by her side, gingerly rolled her to her back. “Emma. Dammit, wake up.” His breath hitched in his chest, a terrified sob building. Gritting his teeth he forced it back, forced himself to breathe. To remember basic first aid. Harris was coming. He’d call an ambulance.
I just have to make her hold on till they get here.