Devil Smoke (28 page)

“You said they took her,” Lucy said gently.

Gloria frowned. Then her tears began to flow. “I’m sorry, Tommy. We couldn’t—”

“We’ll find her,” Tommy said with determination. He hoped Burroughs and the other police officer were careful when they stopped Putnam. Thought about calling Burroughs to tell him Nellie was in the SUV, but decided the detective was already factoring that into things. “What medicine is Peter on?”

“Nothing. Oh, aspirin. Just one a day. And his machine at night.”

TK appeared at the top of the steps. “Nothing prescription in the medicine cabinets.”

“There should be a CPAP machine and mask beside his bed,” Tommy called up. “Can you get it?”

He didn’t have a stethoscope or blood pressure cuff, but he was fairly certain his father-in-law was in the midst of a coronary event, probably with congestive heart failure. It had been a few years since he’d recertified his adult cardiac life support—not that it mattered since he had no meds to work with. But the CPAP machine, which kept lungs inflated to combat sleep apnea, should help. Certainly wouldn’t hurt.

TK came galloping down the steps carrying the machine. Lucy handed Tommy her cell. “I called 911 for an ambulance—want to tell them what to expect? They said it’ll be about fifteen to twenty minutes.”

Not bad for an all-volunteer ambulance squad. Tommy gave the dispatcher a quick rundown while Lucy and TK placed the CPAP mask on Peter. He was taking Peter’s pulse again when his phone rang. Hoping it was Burroughs, he answered without looking. “Did you find her?”

“Yes.”

It was Sarah. Her voice was a menacing, throaty whisper that made Tommy’s skin ripple with fear. He scooted back, the phone pressed to his ear, ignoring the look Lucy gave him. She came close, obviously listening. “Where is she? Is Nellie okay?”

“You’ll need to come to look for yourself. Come alone. We’ll be waiting in the barn, the stall at the far end, the one that’s empty. Hurry, Tommy. You have no idea how long I’ve waited for a sweet, sweet baby like Nellie to take care of.”

Somehow he ended up on his feet, headed toward the door. “Don’t you dare hurt her!”

“Come quickly. Alone. Now.”

She hung up.

LUCY LUNGED TO
stop Tommy before he reached the door. “You can’t go. It’s a trap.”

He whirled on her. “Of course it’s a trap. I don’t care. Not if it gets Nellie back safe. And don’t tell me to wait for Burroughs and the cops. We don’t have time for that.”

TK joined them in the cavernous foyer, keeping her voice pitched low so Gloria and Peter wouldn’t hear. “We don’t know what she wants. She might just want to kill you, or she might want you to watch Nellie die. Either way, the best way to buy time for both of you is for you not to go.”

“Tell us about the barn. What’s the layout?” Lucy asked as TK grabbed her raincoat and the Remington.

“It’s just a barn. There’s a tack room in the front, then…” Tommy paused, frowning as he concentrated. Lucy was asking a lot, she knew from personal experience. It was the equivalent of asking a drowning man to do calculus, but she hoped her diversion helped him to focus, see the facts beyond his emotions. “Four, no, six horse stalls lined up.”

“Are the horses in? Where’s the lighting?”

“They should be in for the night—but I saw one outside when I was waiting in the car, so maybe not. The lights? Uh, overhead. Along the center aisle, hanging from the rafters. There’s a switch at each end of the barn.”

“Junction box? That controls the electricity in the barn?”

He frowned and thought. “In the front, right beside the tack room door.”

“Entrances?” This from TK, who handed Lucy her still sodden jacket.

“One at each end—both big sliding doors, but also smaller, regular type doors. The stalls on the right-hand side also open out into the paddock. And the hayloft, there are doors up there, but you need to climb a ladder.”

Lucy placed a hand on Tommy’s elbow, drawing his attention. “Here’s the plan. You’re going to wait here, take care of Gloria and Peter. TK and I are going to take care of Sarah and save Nellie.”

“But she’ll know it’s not me.”

“Not in the dark she won’t.” TK reached for a dark-colored ball cap hanging on a wrought iron coat stand near the door. She tucked her blond hair inside and wore it backwards. Drew her Beretta and nodded to Lucy. “Ready?”

Lucy drew her own weapon. “Ready.”

“I should go,” Tommy protested once more.

“No,” Lucy said firmly. “You can’t. If we lose you, we have no one to bargain with to save Nellie.” It was a cruel thing, making a parent wait, helpless, but she’d rather be cruel than see both him and Nellie die.

He nodded slowly and opened the door for them. “Be careful.”

Lucy and TK moved back into the rain. It had slowed to a clammy mist that danced along the wind, coming at you in all directions. With it, the fog had thickened, so much so that as soon as the door shut behind them, Lucy lost sight of TK. She stepped forward, almost running into TK, and placed a hand on the other woman’s shoulder.

“We’ll divide when we get there,” TK said. “You go in front, hit the lights. I’ll come in from the hayloft. If that fails, I’ll use the rear entrance or come in through one of the horse stalls.”

“Got it.”

Lucy stumbled on the slick, uneven ground as they left the flagstone path for the grass. The small patch of maintained lawn quickly gave way to the high grass of a meadow. To their right, strange images blurred the fog, and she felt a rumbling through the ground. The horses. Uneasy with the storm.

Thunder rumbled and lightning shot down, hitting a short distance up the mountain, its flash shredding the fog into nightmarish specters of light. More thunder, louder, closer, as the fog closed in once more.

A horse cried out. It seemed close, somewhere behind Lucy’s right shoulder, though in the fog, sound was hard to track. But the rumbling grew stronger, and then came the sound of hoofbeats—and a large, dark form escaped the fog’s clutching fingers. The horse pulled up, pivoted, and charged directly at Lucy and TK.

Lucy pushed TK out of the way and tried to run. Her bad foot slipped against the mud and wet grass, and she skidded, falling, her free hand reaching out, flailing. TK whirled and tried to catch her, but it was too late. Lucy fell directly into the wire fence surrounding the paddock.

A jolt of electricity spiked through her left hand and forearm, pain like a thousand needles dancing along her nerves. She flew back, landing in the grass and mud, gasping.

“Shit,” TK said, kneeling beside her and helping her sit up. “Are you okay?”

Somehow, Lucy had retained her grip on her weapon, but her left hand hung useless. Numb unless she tried to move it, and then the pins and needles pain cascaded down each digit. “I’m fine. Just give me a minute.”

“No.” TK looked past Lucy to the house behind them, a warm glow taunting the storm, then over her shoulder to where the barn sat invisible in the dark and fog. “Look, you know me. I work better alone. It’s just one woman. She has no military training. Hell, we don’t even know if she has a weapon.” She tugged Lucy to her feet. “Go back to Tommy.”

“I can do it,” Lucy protested. Although she realized it was her pride, not her logic, doing the talking. “I don’t need my left hand to shoot.”

“But you do to open doors and manage the circuit breakers. Not unless you want to holster your weapon every time. Plus, you’re already down a leg—maneuvering in this terrain, your ankle just isn’t cut out for it. I’m sorry, Lucy, but I’m better off on my own.”

Translation: Lucy had become a liability. Painful as it was, she had to accept that fact. A girl’s life was at stake.

“All right. Go. Be careful. If there’s a way to stall, wait for Burroughs and the police—”

“Don’t worry, I’m no glory hound. All I want is to get Nellie home safe.”

TOMMY SHUT THE
door behind Lucy and TK. He leaned against it for a long moment, feeling the storm’s wrath pushing against him.

“No!” Gloria called from the living room. Her tone was panicked. Peter—had his condition deteriorated?

Tommy pivoted and crossed through the archway into the living room. He stopped short when he saw the large armoire in the far corner with its doors hanging open. Sarah stood in front of it, a pistol in one hand, her other arm wrapped around Gloria’s chest.

“Poleaxed.” A wide grin slashed across her face. “That’s the word you’re looking for.”

Tommy raised his arms in the universal sign of surrender. He took two cautious steps farther into the room, just far enough so that he could see Peter. The CPAP seemed to be helping: his color was marginally better, his breathing slower. Peter met his gaze and flopped one hand against his lap. Definitely no help coming from that quarter.

Returning his focus to Sarah, Tommy met her gaze. “Where’s Nellie?”

Her eyes tightened and her lips curled into a sneer. “You were a lousy father. You admitted that yourself. She’s better off with me.”

His nod was forced. His face felt like a mask as he fought to keep his emotions in check. Just like the ER, he told himself. Stay calm, ignore their outbursts, try to understand what they really want.

“Maybe she is,” he admitted. Gloria made a noise at that, but Sarah tightened her grip, cutting it short. “Is she okay?” Then he answered his own question, trying to find a way into her delusion, the upside-down world she’d built around her life to block out reality. “No. Of course she’s okay. You’re a good mother. You’d never hurt her.”

He kept nodding, slowly, slowly. Holding her gaze as gently as he would a wounded bird. She began to nod as well, matching his cadence. “I’d never hurt a child.”

“I know that. Where is she? Can I see her?” Her posture tightened. He softened his tone. “Say goodbye?”

“Do you think you deserve that? After the terrible things you’ve done? You’re a monster, and it’s time you admitted it. Go on, tell these people. Tell Nellie’s grandparents how you killed my beautiful baby.”

“I’m a monster.” The words caught in his throat. “I’ll confess everything. After I see Nellie.”

“She’s better off without you. Would be better off dead than living with you.”

Her change in tone spun him off balance. “You said you wouldn’t hurt her.”

“Ending someone’s misery isn’t hurting them,” she countered, with her own twisted brand of logic. “That’s why Charlotte died. She was in so much pain. Walter couldn’t bear it.”

“Walter? He killed Charlotte?”

She jabbed the pistol into Gloria’s cheek. Gloria cried out in pain, her hands flailing against Sarah’s grip. “He shouldn’t have. I had so much more I wanted to do to her. Bitch deserved it, helping you cover up Brian’s murder.”

“Brian, he was your son? Tell me about him.”

“No!” She shoved Gloria aside and aimed the pistol at Tommy. “No. You don’t get to say his name. Not ever.”

Gloria scrambled to Peter’s side near the back wall. Tommy felt a sudden draft at his back and edged in the same direction as Gloria, taking Sarah’s attention with him. If she was looking toward the rear of the room, she wouldn’t have a direct view through the arch leading into the foyer. He strained, but didn’t hear anything from behind him. Maybe he’d imagined the draft?

“What do you want?” he asked, risking her wrath, but hoping to keep her focus on him and him alone.

She held the pistol with both hands now, her aim disturbingly steady. “I want you to pay for what you’ve done. I want you to suffer the way we have. To admit that you’re a killer.”

She licked her lips, her grin vanishing as her mouth settled into a thin line of determination. “And then I want you dead. You’ll die never knowing if Nellie is dead or alive. You’ll die knowing that whatever happens to her, what happened to your wife, it’s all your fault. Yours and yours alone.”

He sidled closer to the rear wall where Gloria covered Peter with her body. Sarah pivoted with him, keeping her aim trained on him. A rush of air and a loud crack startled him. It was quickly followed by two more as Lucy moved forward and pushed him to the ground.

It all happened so fast that he had to replay the events in his mind before he could absorb them. Had that rush really been a bullet speeding past him? He looked up from where he lay on the ground to see Sarah’s body slumped back against the armoire—no, the chifferobe. A hysterical giggle flooded his mind; thankfully he was too stunned to utter it out loud.

Only a second had passed, just long enough for Lucy to cross the room to Sarah and kick Sarah’s gun away. When had she dropped it? He hadn’t even heard it fall. He pushed up to his feet and rushed to join Lucy.

“What did you do?” he shouted at Lucy, his own voice echoing in his head. “She didn’t tell me where Nellie was.” He turned to Sarah, who lay face up below him. “Sarah, please. Tell me. Where’s Nellie?”

Sarah tried to push him away, her expression livid with hatred. “Monster.”

Her breath came in fast little gasps, one hand fluttering between a small wound on her belly and another on the right side of her chest. The other arm lay limp—a third wound there. Tommy shook the fear and anger from his brain, focusing on what needed to be done. Nellie. If he was going to save Nellie, he had to save Sarah.

“Help me with her,” he told Lucy as he regained control. “Get me that first aid kit.”

“Where’s Nellie?” he asked again as he applied pressure to the belly wound.

Sarah shook her head and smiled. “Never going to tell.”

Lucy joined him, unrolling the first aid kit between them. Without his asking, she opened a roll of hemostatic gauze and handed it to him. Too late for gloves; they were both covered in her blood.

He pulled Sarah’s shirt up. The entrance wound wasn’t very big, only a centimeter, maybe two. But there was no exit wound. That was bad.

“This is going to hurt.” He packed the gauze in as tight as he could, hoping it would reach whatever was bleeding internally.