The Guardian (9 page)

“You think that’s bad?” the man screamed at the window. His right foot shoved down again, and he pulled alongside her father’s car. He snapped on the interior light. The electric window slid down beside her, and she could just make out her dad’s face.

He called her name.

“Pull it over up there!” the man yelled past her. “Down the dirt road!” He had the gun jammed under her ear, and he pressed hard.

Janine cried out as he stepped on the brake, and moments later they jostled over rough road. Her father stopped the car up ahead, and the man let the car roll into the BMW again. “Move it!” he yelled out his own window now. “Inside the trees, get away from the road. Kill the headlights and turn on the interiors. And pop that trunk. Do it now!”

Her father moved the car ahead.

The man reached down to the floor and pulled up the shotgun he’d used in the store.

“No!” Janine cried. She grabbed at his arm. “Don’t hurt him. Please, don’t hurt him!”

The man snapped at the woman, “Hold her right there.” He got out of the car and moved his hand on the gun, and it made a loud clacking sound. Janine threw herself at the window. “Daddy, run, Daddy!”

“Sssh.” The woman held her shoulders from behind. “Let them work it out, baby. Let them work it out.”

Chapter 13

Greg steadied himself against the door as he got out.

The man was on him in an instant, grabbing his arm and spinning him around against the side of the car. “I didn’t tell you to get out, fucker.” The man patted Greg down quickly, then looked in the backseat. “That’s it?”

“Yes. That’s the money. It’s all there.”

“All right, open the trunk.”

Greg said, “Show me she’s OK.”

The man punched Greg in the side. It brought him right to his knees. “You don’t listen, man. That’s the second time you’ve been in my face tonight.”

The man hit him again.

Greg cried out. There was a sharp pain in his side, and he figured a rib was broken.

He also figured maybe Ross had been right, too. That forcing the face-to-face meeting might’ve made things more dangerous for everyone.

“Now, open the trunk,” the man said.

Greg stood, breathing harshly. “There’s nothing in there.” He pointed again to the suitcase.

“Open the goddamn trunk!”

Greg tried, but the trunk was wedged shut because of the collision. He couldn’t get the key to turn. He said, “I’m telling you, there’s nothing in there.”

“Yeah?” The man leveled the shotgun and Greg moved aside just as the gun spoke, blowing a hole through the trunk lock. The shot ricocheted through the back window and out the front. The gunman pumped the shotgun fast as the lid swung open and looked in … to find it empty.

“Good for you. No cops. Now open that suitcase.”

Greg quickly pulled it out of the backseat. He turned on the flashlight. “I just want to show you, right?”

“Go ahead.”

Greg opened the suitcase and flashed the beam across the stack of cash. He picked up the packets quickly, to show that it was all money, no tricks, no stacks of cut paper. “It’s all there,” he said. “Please, let me see her now.”

The man bent down beside Greg to run his left hand through the money. “Jesus Christ.”

The gun was pointed roughly in Greg’s direction, and for a moment, he considered trying to take it away. But the gunman seemed to regain himself, and he closed the lid and snapped the lock shut. He yelled over to the car, “Bring her over here!”

The car door opened.

Janine came running to Greg. “Daddy, oh, Daddy!”

He was grinning so hard it hurt. He thanked God he’d kept his head, that he hadn’t pulled a stupid stunt, going for the gun. He swung Janine up to his chest, the lancing pain in his side nothing compared to the pleasure in his heart. He whispered, “Sssh, Janey. I love you, baby, but be quiet now.”

Toward the gunman he felt an absurd kind of gratitude. Even though he still hated the man, there was a sense of their having gone through an ordeal together.

The woman stood a few feet away. “She’s all right,” the woman said. “Your girl’s a good kid. She’ll be all right.”

Greg turned to the man, who was looking in at the front seat of Greg’s car. “Are we through here?”

The man turned on him. “You motherfucker.”

“What?” Greg was bewildered.

“You’ve got a car phone. You were going to call the cops, what, thirty seconds after I left?”

“No.” Greg felt a hollowness in his belly. He slid Janine down to her feet as the man stepped up to him. “The car has always had a phone. Look, it’s not on.”

The woman said, “Come on, babe, let’s go. We got the cash.”

The man was shaking his head. “It’s not that easy.” He pointed the shotgun at Janine. “She knows my name. You’ve said it twice, now.”

Greg stepped in front of Janine. “For Christ sake, we did what you said. You’ve got the money.”

“And
you
…” The man raised the gun to Greg’s chest. “You got in my face—”

“I didn’t hear your name!” Janine cried, her voice high in the night air. “I didn’t!”

“Oh, yeah, you did, little chick.” The man put some heat into the words. “You sure did.”

He’s building himself up,
Greg realized dully. Just like his own father had done, building up into a rage over some trifle. Cold coffee, waking him up too early. It didn’t matter.

“No, baby, don’t.” The woman stood beside Greg, in front of Janine. “She doesn’t know. I asked her.”

“Nat, get out of the way.”

“She doesn’t know!”

“It doesn’t matter! Get the fuck out of the way!”

There was a cracking noise off to the left. A flash of yellow in the darkness, and in the faint light from the BMW’s interior lights Greg could see the man’s shirt move on his left shoulder. Greg grabbed the shotgun barrel and tried to yank it away. He cried. “Run, Janey!”

The man was too strong. Greg could see Ross running from the trees. “Shoot!” Greg cried. But even as he said it, he knew it was a bind, that Ross couldn’t fire with him so close to the gunman.

“Daddy!” Janine screamed. The woman was pushing her into the car.

Greg shoved the man hard, trying to knock him off balance so he could snatch the weapon away. But the man just went with the motion and was still there. The barrel of the gun began to move toward Greg’s face. His breath was rushing in and out and he was thinking too many things. He was thinking that all those years in the office sitting behind the desk had left him in no kind of shape to fight this man. He was thinking that everything he’d hoped and planned for Janine was coming down to a few pounds of muscle strength.

“Get her, Ross!” Greg’s voice was strangled by his lack of wind.

The gun was almost in his face, one huge barrel.

Greg tried to knee the man in the balls.

But the guy twisted and took the blow on his thigh. “Nice try,” he said, putting his foot behind Greg’s standing leg. He knocked him to the ground.

Greg was on his way back up when the man shot him.

Chapter 14

The gunman went for Ross next.

He spun fast, pumped the shotgun, and let loose.

Ross jumped off to the left into a shallow ditch and rolled. The grass and weeds above him whispered, as if a scythe had swept through.

He sat up and snapped off two rounds. He called his brother’s name, but there was no answer. Only the gunman’s silhouette was visible in front of the BMW.

Greg was still on the ground.

The man bent down, apparently going for the money, and Ross steadied his hand and squeezed the trigger.

The man cursed. There was the ratcheting noise again and a flash of yellow flame. “Start the car, Nat!” the man yelled. “Start the frigging car!”

The engine roared to life, and the headlights washed over the man and then settled on Ross, as she swung the car around in reverse. Ross hit the ground again as the shotgun blasted. Shredded leaves drifted into the light from the branch over his head.

Ross fired again, forcing the man away from the case of money. The car’s tires spun in the dirt, and the man gave up on the money and dove into the open passenger window. Ross got to his feet and ran alongside the car, and he almost fired his last shot into the man’s back—but then he saw Janine.

She was reaching over the backseat, screaming, “Uncle Ross, Uncle Ross!” as the man shoved his way in.

Ross steadied his hand.

Told himself this might be her only chance.

The car hit a pothole and bounced. The gun sight covered what he could see of Janine’s face in the moonlight.

Ross pulled back the gun, knowing how close he’d come to killing his niece, as the car disappeared through the trees.

Seconds later, he heard another shotgun blast.

The car took off around the corner just as he got there.

It took him a few seconds to understand what had happened. Janine wasn’t there, on the road. Dead or alive. They still had her. It was Ross’s truck the man had shot. It was tilted to one side, the front tire blown.

Behind him, the BMW’s horn wailed.

Ross shouted with relief as he sprinted back. Part of him had already believed, if not accepted, that Greg was dead. Ross had seen how close the man had been, could imagine the damage the shotgun could inflict. As he ran down the dirt road, he saw that the BMW’s headlights were back on.

But the car hadn’t moved, and the horn was still blaring.

Greg was half into the driver’s seat, his hand on the horn. Blood covered his legs.

Ross pulled him back gently, saying, “Oh, Jesus, Greg.” Tears blurred his vision. His brother’s torso was a bloody ruin. Much of his shirt had been blown away, and his lower ribs were exposed. When his head lolled back, he coughed blood and began to choke. “Drive,” he gasped. “Go.”

“Hold on, Greggie,” Ross said. “I’m going to get you to the hospital, man. We’re not too far away.” He lifted his brother and carried him around to the passenger seat.

Ross got behind the wheel, turned the car around and took off between the trees.

“Which way?” Greg asked.

“Hospital’s down there to the right. We’re not that far from the Sands.” Ross found himself talking fast, knowing what his brother really wanted. But he also knew his brother would die soon if he didn’t get medical attention.

“Damn it.” Greg coughed. “Which way did they go?”

“Greg, you can’t make it.”

“Don’t have the strength to argue,” Greg managed. “You get her back right now. Go.”

“You’ll die, Greg.”

Greg cracked Ross across the face. “Go!” Greg cried out with the effort the movement had cost him. His voice was barely a whisper. “Please, Ross, do what I’m telling you.”

Ross turned left.

He glanced at his watch and saw that less than five minutes had passed since Greg had told him over the car phone that his car had been rammed. All told, the man probably had a full minute lead in the car.

But the road was long and winding, and while there were housing developments along the way, there weren’t any major connecting roads off it in that direction for a half-dozen miles, until the highway, Route 128. There was a slight chance he could catch up.

After that, the kidnapper could take Janine north or south and drop off at any number of exits to lose him and steal a new car. Be gone for good.

The speed limit was forty-five, and Ross wound the BMW up to a hundred and ten in the first straightaway.

The wind through the shattered front window made it hard to see, and the safety glass rattled over the dashboard.

“We need the police,” he shouted over the wind noise and reached down to the car phone.

It took him three tries, between the wind and his concentration on the road, to realize he had dialed correctly, but no one was answering 911. The phone wasn’t getting a signal.

“Goddamn it!” He raked his fingers through his hair. Ross was scared, and it had nothing to do with the speed at which he was traveling. If anything, that settled him. He glanced at his brother and saw how pale his face was, how much blood he was losing sitting there.

The worst of it for Ross was thinking maybe he could’ve averted it all. He should’ve made Greg listen. He’d known down to his marrow that Greg had made a mistake by challenging the man without being ready to back it up.

Greg hadn’t been willing to take the gun, and he hadn’t even been willing for Ross to follow him out. Ross had simply done so and called him on the car phone to say he was keeping a mile back, to let him know when anything happened.

They should’ve been ready, he should’ve brought a rifle and scope… .

Should’ve, should’ve, should’ve. Ross made the car scream around the next corner. Ross watched the odometer. Four miles gone. He’d been averaging around ninety, but if the kidnapper had been able to make even close to that in the big Plymouth …