She hoped that was the answer. If he shut down, then maybe he wasn’t living through the terror that poor Abby Appleton seemed to be experiencing at the moment, her cries rising from inside the locked bedroom.
Trevor sat on one of the bar stools, his posture almost relaxed, though the pistol he held pointed at Charlotte’s bound, gagged figure belied any sort of calm on his part. “I’m waiting for the signal.”
“What signal?”
“I’ll know it when I hear it. Then we can get Zachary and go.” He shot a look at Charlotte, who was gazing at him with wide, terrified eyes. “I’m not going to hurt you if everyone just cooperates. I just came for Stacy, but we have to wait for the signal before we can go.”
“What about Deputy Appleton? What did you do to get past him?” Stacy asked.
“
“Where do you plan to take Zachary and me?” she asked aloud.
“Did you know my family has money?” Trevor smiled at her. “Lots of it. I got the bulk of an inheritance from my grandfather when I turned twenty-five. Last year, I bought a small horse ranch in Colorado. You and Zachary will love it there. He’ll have horses to ride whenever he wants to, and you can stop worrying so hard about making ends meet.” Trevor rose from the chair and crossed to where she sat on the sofa. He sank onto the coffee table, reaching across to touch her cheek. “I just want to take care of both of you. You haven’t had anyone to do that for you since your husband left, have you?”
A picture of Harlan flashed in her head. Strong, solid Harlan, who loved her son and seemed to want more from her than she was brave enough to give him. He’d take care of her and Zachary, if she needed him to, but he respected her ability to take care of herself and her son on her own.
The comparison to the crazy man sitting in front of her with his gun still held at the ready was enough to bring stinging tears to her eyes. But she held them back, refusing to let the fear make her weaker.
Harlan would realize she hadn’t returned to the party, sooner or later. He knew where she’d been going when she left the ranch house. He’d come looking.
She just had to stay alert, listen for signs of his arrival. If she could distract Trevor at just the right time-
“Zachary’s being awfully quiet.” Trevor pushed himself to his feet, reaching down to catch her wrist. “Let’s go check.”
She shook her head, not wanting her son to see her being held at gunpoint. “You know Zachary. He’s probably caught up in reading one of his horse books.”
“He’s probably hungry, don’t you think?” He glanced at the counter, where the half-eaten remains of vegetable soup sat cooling in bowls. “I interrupted dinner, I’m afraid.”
He dragged her down the hall to Zachary’s bedroom, untying the shoestrings he’d used to secure the door closed by tying it to Stacy’s bedroom doorknob. At the rattle of the doorknob, Abby Appleton started crying again.
Trevor opened the door. Abby sobbed in terror.
But Stacy didn’t see Zachary.
“Where is he?” Trevor asked the crying child.
She just sobbed harder.
“Ask her!” Trevor’s grip tightened on Stacy’s arm, pushing her into the room.
She stumbled forward, almost falling into the crying child. Catching herself, she crouched by Abby, reaching out to touch the child’s cold, damp cheek. “Abby, where did Zachary go?”
Abby’s blue eyes shifted sideways.
Toward the open bedroom window.
“WE HAVE MOVEMENT INSIDE.” Around the side of the house, Freedom Sheriff Bernard Hale motioned for Harlan to join him. Behind them, EMTs had arrived, lights and sirens off, to make sure no one inside the ranch house was alerted to the police presence. They scooped up Appleton and carried him off to a safer staging area closer to the road.
Back at the ranch house, the agents had finished a thorough sweep without finding the mysterious gunman who’d fired shots at the governor earlier. They had, however, found a gun hidden in a plant in the upper gallery. It had been recently fired.
Matt Soarez was staying with Zachary in the governor’s office until Harlan could get back to the house. Zachary refused to leave until Harlan came back to get him.
Harlan scooted closer to the sheriff. They were looking through the open window of Zachary’s bedroom, he realized. That’s how the little boy had gotten out.
Borrowing the sheriff’s binoculars, he peered into the room and saw Trevor Lewis standing at the window, looking out.
“It’s Lewis,” he confirmed in a low whisper. He and the sheriff were pretty well camouflaged by the scrubby bush giving them cover, but he still hunched lower as Trevor looked out the window briefly before ducking inside. “Wish I had my M40.”
“You’re a sniper?” Hale asked.
“Used to be,” he answered. Of course, it had been a while since he’d been able to shoot a rifle with any sort of confidence. The man at the firing range thought it was more mental than physical for Harlan, but based on what the doctors had told him when he’d first sustained the injury, the scar tissue alone would preclude regaining his old form.
“I can get you a Remington M24.”
“Shouldn’t we try negotiating first?” Harlan asked.
“Of course,” Hale answered. “Just thinking about contingencies.” He thumbed the radio on his shoulder. “All units, hold position. I’m going to make a call.” He looked at Harlan. “I need the number.”
Harlan rattled it off, keeping his eye on the window. He couldn’t see Lewis anymore, but he caught a glimpse of a curvy silhouette against a rectangle of light inside the room. Stacy, he thought, his heart in his throat
“Stacy’s in there with him,” he said to Hale.
“You sure?”
He nodded. He’d know the shape of her anywhere.
Hale dialed the number, his cell phone on speaker. The phone inside rang four times before Stacy answered. “Hello?”
She sounded scared, Harlan thought. And brave. A surge of emotion racked him, as if someone had opened a flood-gate inside and let the pent-up energy flow.
He loved her. Everything about her, from her bloody stubborn streak to her blasted pride. And if it was the last thing he ever did, he’d get her out of that house safely and reunite her with that quirky little kid they both loved so much.
“STACY, THIS IS BERNARD HALE.” The sheriff’s voice came over the line loud and clear, as if he were in the next room. That meant he was probably somewhere close, maybe just outside. “Is Trevor Lewis in there with you?”
Stacy flinched as Trevor rested his chin on her shoulder from behind, his ear pressing the phone receiver against her own ear. “He’s right here.”
“I’d like to speak to him.”
Trevor’s hot breath brushed her cheek. “Tell him no.” He backed away, pacing a few steps toward the kitchen. “See what your kid did? Sneaked out and made trouble for us. Maybe if you didn’t baby him so much, he wouldn’t have bugged out.”
Trevor was losing it, she thought, trying not to let the gnawing panic in her belly take hold. “It’s not too late to stop this,” she said to Trevor, pleased that her voice remained calm and even despite the fear.
“He’ll stop it,” Trevor said with manic confidence. “He has a plan.”
“Who’s ‘he’?” she asked, hoping the sheriff was taking notes on the other end of the line.
“You’ll find out soon enough,” Trevor murmured, his voice almost gleeful.
“Stacy, it’s Harlan.” The low-pitched, familiar voice in her ear set her nerves jangling. “Is he listening in now?”
