Last Light (27 page)

Instead of the
hors d'oeuvre
he’d expected, a wicked-edged filleting knife with a bone handle lay there. Dark stains covered it.

“It’s the knife that killed Lily and her baby.”

TK STOOD WATCH
, peeking through the curtains in Alan’s room at the scene unfolding in the front yard. Saylor remained a good ten feet inside the gate, talking to Caleb Blackwell. Saylor held his shotgun, his posture alert, ready to use it. Caleb leaned casually against his SUV, clearly certain he held the upper hand.

In many ways he did. If Saylor took action, he’d have to kill Caleb immediately—there were consequences to drawing a weapon on a lawman—and he’d probably spend the rest of his life in prison answering for it. No. All Saylor could do was react to Caleb, which gave the sheriff the advantage.

The only thing they had going for them was the time Saylor bought them while he talked with Caleb, stalling him.

She glanced over her shoulder at the closet. Alan was curled up on the floor; still making that weird noise that raised the hairs on the back of her neck.

How the hell could she have been so wrong about Caleb? She’d noticed the weird vibe between him and his mother at lunch. The way they’d both been so quick to throw Roscoe out as a suspect when they realized the case against the Mannings was unraveling.

Lucy crouched down and somehow folded herself into the closet alongside Alan’s quivering body. She pulled him into a tight embrace and slowly, he went silent.

“It’s going to be all right,” she crooned to the boy-man, rocking him gently. “TK is going to take you out of here while I help your dad.”

TK moved away from her position at the window and extended a hand, touching Alan’s shoulder. He finally looked up, met her gaze. She gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “I need you to help me, Alan. Can you do that? Can you show me how to get down to the river?”

His nod was tentative but he let her take his hand. Lucy released him and TK pulled him to his feet.

“I figure you build a house on a river, there’s probably a boat or two out back,” TK told Lucy. Alan nodded eagerly, his fearful expression easing into one of anticipation.

Lucy climbed out of the closet, wobbling on her bad leg, and turned to Alan. He was taller than Lucy but she somehow managed to reach his forehead and plant a kiss there just like TK’s mom used to do when she was a child.

“You can do it, Alan,” Lucy told him. “Your mom and dad will be very proud. Take good care of TK and do what she says, okay?”

An uncertain frown creased his face but then he relaxed and nodded. “Get going,” Lucy told TK as they moved through the kitchen to the rear of the house.

Lucy paused to raise the handset on an old rotary-dial phone on the kitchen wall then hung up, shaking her head. “It’s dead.”

They reached the door. Past the small backyard was a dock. The water was too low to see from their position, but on the porch outside the kitchen door stood three fishing poles. Beside them several life jackets hung on pegs.

Lucy held the door open for TK and Alan. “You can’t trust the sheriff’s department. You’ll need to go to the Texas Rangers or FBI. Probably Abilene.”

“That’s over an hour away. I can’t leave you and Saylor that long.”

Lucy grabbed TK’s arm. “We aren’t your mission. Alan is. You get him safe and then worry about the rest. Do you understand me, Marine?”

Reflex jerked TK to attention. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Go. Now.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Find more weapons and back up Saylor. Hopefully it won’t come to that and I’m overreacting, but better safe than—”

“Dead,” TK finished for her. Alan clutched at her arm with both hands. “Alan, time to go. Must be nice, living on the river. How about if you show me your boat?”

<><><>

LEAVING ALAN IN
TK’s capable hands—far better the younger former Marine protect him than a woman with a gimpy leg and no military training—Lucy returned to the gun safe. She didn’t have time to waste but it was worth giving it at least a try. Numbers—no idea what Saylor might choose. But letters? There were two obvious four-letter combos: his wife or his son.

She closed her eyes, visualizing a phone keypad—the alphabet began on the two key, right?—and typed in 2526: ALAN. The lock clicked open and she was rewarded with the sight of two hunting rifles, two semi-automatic pistols, and a second pump-action shotgun. She shoved two magazines of ammunition into her back pockets, grabbed the pistols and shotgun, and checked that they were loaded and ready to go as she moved through the living room back to the screen door where she could assess Saylor’s situation with Caleb Blackwell.

Both men were standing on opposite sides of the gate, now only a few feet apart. Blackwell was clearly losing his patience.

“I know TK is here—that’s her vehicle. What happened when she showed Alan the photos, Drew?”

How in hell did Blackwell know about the photo array?

“I told you, Alan is gone,” Saylor answered. “With his mother. After that former FBI agent came around, upsetting things, we thought it best to send him away.”

Blackwell scratched his scalp, tilting his hat up, squinting as he scrutinized the house. The setting sun was directly in his eyes, Lucy realized. A small advantage, but one she’d gladly take. There was no proof the sheriff’s intentions were anything other than fact-finding, but no way was she taking any chances. Her job now was to buy TK and Alan as much time as possible while learning Blackwell’s true intentions.

She set the shotgun just inside the door where she could reach it in two steps, concealed one pistol at the small of her back, her shirttail covering it, and tucked the other in her boot where the Velcro from her brace kept it securely in place. Finally, the damn thing was good for something. As she stood back up, she saw TK’s phone still on the charger. Which meant no chance for any cavalry coming to the rescue.

She wondered again at Blackwell’s convenient timing. How could he have known they were close to getting the truth? Obviously, he wasn’t afraid of anything Alan could communicate, not after twenty-nine years.

But there was no way he could know about the photo array or that she wanted to check the cookie box fingerprints against the current database—one that had his prints on file. Unless…She glanced through the window. Both men still talking, no weapons drawn. As if they were both stalling.

TK’s phone. It had been at the jail all night, plenty of time for Blackwell to install spyware if he wanted an easy way to keep on top of the investigation.

Lucy tapped through to the system admin screens. Unfortunately, after having her very own serial killer stalker, she had plenty of experience with spyware and how to find it buried in the recesses of a phone’s inner workings. Bingo.

Which meant Blackwell was not here to see what they knew. He was here to tie up loose ends. Why hadn’t he opened fire? Three well-armed, well-trained adults against one. Odds were against him, so his stalling meant he had a plan, intended to get out of this alive. Actually gave them an advantage over someone intent on suicide.

Okay, then was he stalling to give backup time to arrive? No. She couldn’t see him trusting anyone else with the secrets he’d kept safe for twenty-nine years.

What the hell was his plan? He couldn’t let them live—or leave, since as soon as they got past the range of the cell jammer, they’d call for help from the FBI or the Texas Rangers.

Only one way to find out. She pushed through the front door, brushing her hands on her jeans as if she’d just come from the restroom.

“Hi again, Sheriff,” she called. It was hard not to wince when she used his title. There were so many new names she wanted to call him instead: killer, psychopath, slaughterer, evil sonofabitch…

“Evening, Lucy,” Blackwell called back, using her first name for the first time. Was that good or bad? “Where’s TK and the boy?”

Lucy leaned against the porch railing, angling herself so Saylor was out of her line of fire. Was she really considering drawing on a sworn officer of the law? Blackwell’s hands were at his belt, posing no immediate threat. Yet.

Even if he was guilty of a heinous crime twenty-nine years ago and maybe more since then, she still had no proof, just a theory. She couldn’t simply kill him based on a theory. Neither could Saylor. Not unless they wanted to spend the rest of their lives in prison.

With Blackwell being the highest-ranking lawman in the county, Saylor couldn’t even use the castle statute as a defense. No. As much as she wanted to put Blackwell down like the animal she believed him to be, she had to wait, let him make the first move.

“You just missed TK. I sent her with David Ruiz to finish our interviews. Didn’t you pass them on your way in?”

He considered that. “Blue Ford Escape?”

“That’s right. I’d call her, but there’s something wrong with the cell service.” The last was for Saylor’s benefit, to let him know there was no help coming. “I’m sure she’ll be back at the motel in plenty of time for your dinner date.”

He nodded, contemplating his next move, sidling to one side, placing Saylor in her crossfire. How long could they keep this game up?

Long enough for TK to get Alan to safety, she hoped.

“Okay, then,” he said, turning to open the door of his Escalade. “Guess I’ll catch her later. Thanks.”

Neither Lucy nor Saylor relaxed their postures until he was inside the SUV and backing down the lane.

Saylor turned to rejoin her. A screech of wheels against gravel sounded. Lucy spun around.

Blackwell’s SUV rammed the gate and plowed into Saylor before he could jump out of the way or even get off a shot. His body flew up against the hood, the shotgun flying from his hands, and then he was flung backward onto the ground.

She drew her weapon while retreating back inside the house where she’d have cover. She exchanged her pistol for the shotgun she had waiting and took aim.

Blackwell parked the SUV over Saylor’s prone body and hopped out, brandishing his own weapon, a M4 submachine gun, using the engine compartment of the SUV as cover. “Come out and drop your weapon, Lucy. Or Saylor’s dead.”

Right. Like he wasn’t going to kill them both anyway. She checked her phone. Still nothing. That damn jammer he was so proud of getting from the damn forfeiture money.

Blackwell was smart enough that he didn’t give her a clear shot. At least not from this direction. If she could get out one of the windows on the western side of the house, she could use the trees as concealment and outflank him.

A few big ifs there. But no time for any other plan.

“What do you want, Blackwell?” she called through the door, to get his attention as she immediately sidled back out of sight and headed into the master bedroom facing the forest.

“Bring me the boy and I’ll let you go,” Blackwell called back. Did she look like she’d just fallen off a turnip truck? No. He was smarter than that—still stalling, but why?

She entered the bedroom. Even better than a window, there were French doors leading onto a small terrace not visible from the front of the house. She ran outside just in time to hear Saylor engage Blackwell. Not dead and not out of the game. Good.

“I don’t understand,” Saylor said, his voice reflecting his anguish. “Why leave Alan alive only to come after him again all these years later?”

Lucy climbed down and hid behind the shrubs around the deck. They were something dry and scratchy, with leaves that were withering and begging for water. Somewhere nearby, she smelled smoke as if someone was burning trash.

When she craned her head, she could barely make out Saylor dragging his body out from under the SUV, his face contorted in pain. If he could just keep Blackwell talking a few minutes more.

Blackwell fired a three-round burst that threw up a wave of dirt clods just past Saylor’s head. Saylor froze, his hands extended in the universal sign of surrender.

“Alan was supposed to be dead. I even went back the next morning to make sure everyone was dead—and to get my father there. I wanted to see the look on his face when he realized his precious Lily and her darling baby were gone forever. But he showed up too soon and I never got to check on Alan. After that, it was too late—but he also wasn’t any threat. He never saw my face and he wasn’t talking anyway.”

“He’s still no threat to you. Walk away, no one needs to know.”

As they talked, Lucy skirted the shadows and crossed the dead grass to the tree line. Now she could see the men but still had no clear shot.

Blackwell had the SUV door open, and not just for concealment. He was grabbing something from inside. “Too late now. Tell me where he is.”

“Never,” Saylor said.

“Thought you might say that.” Blackwell threw something into the air. A gas can, its spout open. It spewed gas in a graceful arc, then landed a few feet beyond Saylor, more gasoline streaming into the parched grass surrounding him. “You listening, Lucy?”

Blackwell grabbed one more item from the SUV and held it aloft. A roadside flare. “If I have to, I’ll burn this place to the ground, all of you along with it.”

He turned to shout into the blue-tinted dusk surrounding the cabin. “Bring me the boy, Lucy, and I’ll let you live. Without him, you have no case, so I have no reason not to let you go. Do it now or Saylor burns.”

TK JOGGED DOWN
the back porch steps and headed toward the dock but Alan didn’t follow. “C’mon,” she called back in a hushed voice, gesturing. He shook his head solemnly and reached for a life vest, pulling it over his head.

Thanks to her experiences working with scared women and children in Iraq and Afghanistan as their villages were searched and men secured, TK understood how to calm someone’s fear and panic without speaking their language. But what to do with a man who functioned with the mentality of a child and didn’t speak?