Midnight Sacrifice (10 page)

“Did you ever see him with a female companion?”

Unable to verbalize the lie, she shook her head.

“You had no idea he kept a basement full of Celtic artifacts?”

“No.” She tried to move sideways, but Danny caged her against the doorframe with one hand on each side of her head. His body was a millimeter from touching hers. She already knew his body was tough, and if she leaned on him, she could borrow a little of his strength. “I can’t talk about it anymore.” She looked away.

“That’s bullshit, Mandy, and we both know it.” He put a fingertip under her chin and gently turned her face back to his. “On
the outside, you look all delicate and beautiful, but inside, you have a steel core. I know. I’ve seen that courage.”

Mandy slid the notebook in her hand between them as a shield and hugged it close to her body. He leaned in. His chest pressed against her folded arms. But what she really wanted to do was touch him. To feel his arms around her. For his heat to melt her frozen heart. He said she was strong, but she felt as wobbly and weak as a newborn fawn.

He leaned closer. Was he going to kiss her?

“Trust me, Mandy,” Danny whispered. His breath drifted across her cheek.

The dilemma was that she did trust him. He was an honorable man. Not only had he protected her from Nathan, he’d saved Jed’s life. Then Danny had stuck around the hospital until her mother arrived, just quietly sitting in the background so she wouldn’t be alone. And she’d learned later that he’d done all that with an injured hand and post-traumatic stress disorder. He was a hero.

She wanted to tell him everything and let him handle the fallout. She was damned tired of being strong.

The kitchen door slapped open.

“Mandy, what’s for lunch?” Bill barreled through the opening. He stopped short, his eyes bugging when he saw Danny. “Are you OK, Mandy?” Bill’s voice trembled with apprehension.

Danny eased back, slowly stepping away from her.

“I’m fine,” Mandy breathed. Her heart pounded; everything inside her fluttered like moths in the porch light. This was no good. She needed Danny and his solid body out of her kitchen. As much as she wanted his help, he couldn’t fix the problem. “Bill, this is Danny Sullivan. He’s a…friend.”

“Nice to meet you, Bill.” Danny must have known about or sensed Bill’s discomfort. He didn’t move any closer or hold out his hand to her brother.

Bill’s eyes bugged. He wasn’t convinced, but he bravely stayed in the kitchen though the tension in his body told Mandy he wanted to bolt. Watching Bill fight his fear of strangers for her, Mandy’s heart swelled. She should be ashamed she’d ever thought of Bill as a burden. He loved her unconditionally.

“Danny was just leaving.” Mandy walked to the back door and opened it. “I’ll see you out.”

The desire in Danny’s eyes shifted to irritation. He spun around and walked out the door. Mandy followed him onto the back porch. “Thank you for not scaring Bill.”

Danny pivoted. “I don’t want to scare anyone. I just want information.”

“Which I don’t have.”

His eyes narrowed. He didn’t believe her. She couldn’t blame him. She’d never been a good liar. He jogged down the wooden steps. “I’ll be back, Mandy.”

The look he shot over his shoulder was
challenge accepted
.

He got into his car. The engine started up with a deep rumble. She stood on the porch until he’d driven away. This was not good. Not good at all.

Danny was not the sort of man to step down from a confrontation.

What was she going to do? Ignore him and hope he went away?

Mandy turned back toward the kitchen door. A tingle shot down her spine. She whirled around, certain that Danny had returned, but there wasn’t anyone behind her. She scanned the rest of the yard. Except for a squirrel clambering up the trunk of the big oak near the garage, the yard was empty.

She went back into the kitchen and locked the door. Bill was opening the refrigerator. He pulled out a gallon of milk and set
it on the counter. She smiled at him. “How about a grilled cheese to go with that?”

“Yes, please.”

As she lifted her frying pan from the overhead rack, she gave the yard one more glance. Was there something out there? She thought of the notes under her mattress.

Could it be Nathan? She didn’t think he’d take the risk of coming into town, especially in daylight. So who was it? Who was helping Nathan?

CHAPTER EIGHT

Kevin lifted his head. It weighed about a thousand pounds, and his neck felt like cooked penne. His mouth had never been so dry. His lips stuck together.

What happened?

He felt like he had the worst hangover in his life.

And the flu. Avian flu.

He opened his eyes and squinted in the dim light. His eyes focused. Over his head was solid wood. Evenly spaced four-by-fours comprised the sides of his prison. Bars? Shock sent adrenaline chugging through his system. He was in a cage.

An image flashed in his mind. A man. Blond and thin. Pointing something at him. Oh, no.

Hunter!

Kevin turned his head. A small body was curled behind him. He tried to push to his hands and knees but collapsed. His chin struck the ground.
Ow.
Letting the waves of pain clear his head, he belly-crawled forward and placed a hand on his son’s chest. An agonizing few seconds of stillness preceded the shallow rise and fall of Hunter’s ribcage.

Relief rushed through Kevin with dizzying speed. Nausea followed. He rested his forehead on his son’s arm. Several deep breaths passed before he was able to lift his head again to scan their surroundings. The cage that housed them was only about four feet high. Kevin would be able to sit up but not stand. The enclosure sat in the middle of an old, dirt-floored barn. The
building was two stories tall. In Kevin’s half, the space was unobstructed from floor to roof; a loft divided the remainder. The barn doors opposite him were closed. High up on the opposite wall, a few sunbeams poked through broken boards. Dust floated in the skinny rays of light.

Kevin squinted into the shadows. A tractor hunkered in the corner. An ATV and a small boat on a trailer sat next to it. Rusted tools hung on the wall. A pile of lumber and some odd objects occupied the area under the loft. A birdcage-like head decorated with a carved mouth, nose, and eyes. Two long and thin branches bent like arms. Strewn on the dirt floor, they looked like giant snowman parts after the thaw. But he didn’t see the blond man or anyone else. His ear strained for sounds of human occupation, but none came, except a soft snore from Hunter.

Thank God.

He patted down his pockets. Empty. Even his breath mints were gone.

Where was the blond man, and why had he kidnapped them? Whatever the reason, it couldn’t be good. Kevin looked for a lock to pick. He swiveled his head in both directions. Fear rolled through his belly as he crawled to the edge and put both hands on the thick wooden posts that served as bars. No give.

His cage had no door.

There was no escape.

Danny juggled the pizza and unlocked the front door. In the kitchen, he set the box on the granite counter. The smells wafting from the box didn’t do anything for his nonexistent appetite. He couldn’t get the missing father and son out of his head. He’d spent the afternoon driving around to get a mental map of the
town in his head. The latest news updates on the radio made it clear no one expected to find the pair alive.

He glanced out the window. Plenty of light left for a run. He changed into sweats and a T-shirt.

Danny jogged down the long driveway and slipped around the gate. On the main road, he opened his stride. His feet hit the pavement with reassuring firmness. With his bum hand, the sports of his youth were out of the picture. No more boxing as an outlet for stress. Pickup games of baseball or baseball were a thing of his past. But running made him feel competent and athletic again. Running was freedom. He’d always been fast, but now he was outrunning his memories instead of the cops.

It was a race he couldn’t win.

A mile or so down the road, his leg muscles warmed, and Danny hit his stride and pushed harder. The pain in his hand, the visions of blood and bombs, the threat to his sister, everything faded away as his body focused on its basic need for oxygen. When his thighs burned and his lungs complained, he slowed to a jog.

He scanned his surroundings. Nothing but trees in sight. Where the hell was he? He’d gone farther than he’d planned. The deep, dark woods were creepy as shit. He turned and headed back.

Past the point where he needed to drive himself to exhaustion to battle his stress, Danny took it easy on the way back. The return trip took considerably longer since he wasn’t kicking five-minute miles. He slapped an insect off his sweaty neck. Full dark had fallen on the house by the time he hit the driveway. Of course, he’d forgotten the freaky-deaky dark-as-a-subterranean-cave that smothered the forest at night. The crescent moon hanging over the treetops was barely a nursery nightlight. Just enough so Danny didn’t fall on his face. Not enough to see what was lurking in the shadows.

He slowed to a walk at the end of the driveway. The hairs on his neck quivered. He ducked behind a fat tree trunk and listened.

The distant, high pitched whine of a dirt bike or ATV floated on the wind. But Danny heard nothing close by except for tree branches rustling in the breeze. A shiver passed through his muscles. The temperature had dropped while he was running, and his sweat-soaked clothes didn’t help. The house and a hot shower beckoned.

Still, careful had kept him alive in Iraq. He circled the house and approached the back entrance. He unlocked the door and went through the mudroom into the kitchen. His ears strained for sounds of an intruder, but only quiet greeted him.

He flipped the wall switch. Light gleamed off stainless steel. Danny moved from room to room in a methodical search of closets and shadows. Satisfied the house was empty, he took a hot shower and put on fresh clothes. Back in the kitchen, the chill returned. The spring damp had permeated the house, and Danny had depleted his calorie stores on his run. He found a cookie sheet and put half of the pizza in the oven. The other half went into the fridge. In the living room, the woodstove caught his eye. Danny checked the back porch. Seasoned wood was stacked neatly against the far wall.

He piled wood next to the stove, then opened the door and peered inside. Looked simple enough. He’d never used a woodstove, but it didn’t seem much different from a fireplace. He stacked crumpled paper and kindling. Lighting a match, he held it above the pile to check the draw before igniting the paper. When the kindling had caught, he added a couple of small logs.

Satisfied it was burning, he returned to the kitchen and brought his hot pizza into the living room. He sat on the floor in front of the stove and switched on the TV. Several stations ran clips about the missing fisherman and his son, but there were no
new developments. No bodies. No clues in their disappearance. If they had drowned, wouldn’t their bodies have been found downstream by now? And why was all their stuff found on the trail to their cabin?

Danny added a larger log to the stove. Between the heat pouring from the iron box and the food in his belly, the chills faded. He moved to the couch and flipped through the sports channels. He settled on baseball and watched the last four innings of the Phillies game. When it was over, he added more logs to the fire, which was burning nicely, and closed the stove door. The fire had taken the moisture from the room. Hopefully by morning the dampness would be banished from the rest of the house as well.

He checked the locks and turned off the lights and TV before heading to bed. As tired as he was, sleep eluded him for a long time. He and his brother Conor shared an apartment over the family tavern. The military had taught him to sleep through all sorts of noise, too. The dark quiet of the woods was alien. Danny needed a noise machine with honking horns and swearing drunks.

A flat-screen TV hung on the wall opposite the bed. Danny turned on the weather channel and lay in the dark listening to storm reports.