The Homecoming: Countdown to Armageddon: Book 5 (18 page)

     “Maybe. But it’s still not Zach.”

     “I’ll put out an APB and have a couple deputies swing south of town and do a grid search for him. I know he’s grown close to the Miller family on Farm Road 2538. Any chance he’s spending the night there and just forgot to tell you?”

     Hannah shifted her attention to Linda, who just reentered the room and shook her head.

     “Doubtful. And Linda says none of the vehicles or horses are missing. The Miller place is three miles away, much too far to walk.”

     “I’ll bet my money on a teenage adventure. He probably met Billy Miller somewhere between your place and theirs, to go camping or some other mischief. Either that or he ran away from home because he’s mad at somebody for something. Boys do that kind of stuff all the time. Have you tried to get ahold of Scott?”

     “Robbie’s working on that.”

     “I’ll wrap things up here in a few minutes and head out to the Miller place. If I find him there, or if Billy Miller is missing too, then we’ll consider the case solved. If he’s not there and Billy doesn’t know of his whereabouts, I’ll come straight home and join the search. Call Dawn back if there’s any updates, okay?”

     “Okay, will do.”

     Robbie got back on.

     “Hannah, this is Robbie. Scott’s still not in range. I was kidding about John being in the shower. He’s actually working tonight. I’m the only one here. I’ll bounce back and forth between my squad car and the ham. I’ll keep trying him every five minutes until he can pick me up. Any chance the boy ran away from home?”

     “That’s what Tom’s thinking. But he’s never done that before, and he didn’t seem unhappy.”

     “Boys don’t have to be unhappy to run away from home. Sometimes they do it just to have some fun. I know I did a couple of times. I always went back when I got cold or hungry or missed my mom. He’ll do the same thing.

     “I’ll keep trying to raise Scott, though, and I’ll let you know when I get him.”

     “Ten-four, Robbie. Thank you so much.”

     “Don’t mention it. When are you coming home?”

     “On Wednesday. John’s bringing Scott and Becky up here and taking the girls and I back with him.”

     “I’m looking forward to seeing you again. When can you and I start up our secret love affair again?”

     “Ha, ha. Very funny. How about the twelfth of never?”

     “Well, you can’t blame a guy for trying. I’ll let you know as soon as I get ahold of Scott.”

     “Thank you, Robbie.”

              -35-

      Robbie returned to the patrol car parked in the driveway and tried Scott again.

     There was no answer. As he waited for his friend and colleague to come within radio range, he pondered his situation. And his options.

     He’d teased Hannah Castro about running away with him for so long it had become a running joke among his circle of friends.

     He was far from the only man who flirted with Hannah. She was a beautiful woman, who had a successful career in modeling in her younger years before her body type became too “womanly” to suit her agency. She finally gave up her career at the tender age of eighteen, saying, “If I have to choose between having boobs or a modeling career, I’ll go with the boobs.”

     The man she was dating at the time, John Castro, backed her up wholeheartedly.

     “I’m kind of partial to boobs myself.”

     And even though the agency no longer wanted her, she was still a strikingly gorgeous woman.

     The kind of woman men would always fall for.

     Even the kind of man who wasn’t emotionally mature enough to handle the fact she belonged to someone else.

     Oh, Robbie was once as stable as a man could be.

     Back in the days before the blackout, when the San Antonio Police Department had a rigorous entrance exam, which included a full psychological evaluation, he passed with flying colors.

     Back then he was stable, emotionally strong, and able to tell right from wrong.

     But the previous two and a half years had changed Robbie.

     It wasn’t just one thing. At least nothing in particular anyone could pinpoint.

     And he was still able to reason. At least enough to see for himself that the thoughts he was having and the plans he was making were neither legal nor healthy.

     But try as he might to identify the one thing which made him justify in his own mind the plans he was setting in motion, he just hadn’t a clue.

     All he knew was that he’d waited far too long to land a prize like Hannah. Too many times he’d seen someone of her caliber come along and end up with another.

     He caught himself.

     Someone else of her caliber. As though there were really such a thing.

     The fact was, there was no one in the world, save Hannah herself, who measured up to her.

     The fact was, although she had more than her fair share of flaws, he would never accept or even notice them.

     She was, beyond all reason, perfect in every way.

     In Robbie’s world of obsession, that perfection made her legal to hunt.

     In the same way men will travel halfway around the world and spend a small fortune in pursuit of a trophy animal, simply because it is the biggest of the breed, or has the perfect coat, or is most beautiful among its peers, Robbie had Hannah in his sights.

     He had for quite some time.

     His plan was in motion, and he’d complete it undeterred.

     Whatever was going on with Scott and his son, it was but a minor distraction.

     A temporary setback.

     Whatever was going on with Scott and his son would allow John Castro another day of life.

     A golden ticket to continue to breathe for twenty four more hours.

     He muttered to himself.

     “Congratulations, John. You’ve won the life lottery.

     “You get to live another day, my friend.

     “But only one.”

     He picked up the radio once again.

     “Charlie Two-Five, this is Charlie Three Nine. Come in.”

     In his previous attempt, Robbie had gotten nothing but radio noise for his efforts. This time, however, there was a definite break in the noise. A definite burst of static that told him Scott could hear well enough to recognize his call sign. Just not well enough for Robbie to hear his response.

     It made sense. Scott had a higher vantage point. On Interstate 10 twenty seven miles west of San Antonio, he had an elevation advantage of two hundred feet over Robbie, who was nestled in the clutches of a suburb in one of the lowest parts of the city.

     Scott had nothing but relatively open land surrounding him, and Robbie was surrounded by hundreds of residential homes, nonoperational power lines and an occasional skyscraper.

     The burst of static told him one thing, though. Scott was entering the outer limits of the radio’s range. Another few minutes and they should be able to communicate clearly.

     As much as Robbie relished in hearing sweet Hannah’s voice, her plaintive call on the ham screwed up his plans for the evening. He should be on his way to North Hein Road. He should be setting up position in the stand of tall grass on the isolated service road overlooking John’s favorite place to sit in his car and wait for calls.

     He should be lying in wait to put a bullet into John Castro’s head.

     It had to be done so sweet Hannah could finally become his and his alone.

     In calling for Robbie’s help, Hannah had unwittingly given her husband another day to live.

     But that was okay. Robbie could find it in his heart to forgive her. After all, she didn’t know. And in the grand scheme of things it wouldn’t matter much. A year from now, when he was firmly installed in sweet Hannah’s bed and in her heart, raising John’s children as his own, it wouldn’t matter much what day John Castro died.

     As long as he was dead.

              -36-

     Robbie was nothing if not patient.

     He’d heard Scott calling in several times since that lonely burst of static almost five minutes before.

     And he’d ignored the call each time.

     Scott had heard the garbled transmission enough to pick up his call sign, and then Robbie’s. He responded, but got no answer. Apparently Robbie couldn’t read him.

     So he kept trying, every thirty seconds or so, every half mile closer to San Antonio.

     “Charlie Three Nine, this is Charlie Two Five. Please repeat your last transmission.”

     Each time Scott repeated the statement, he was a bit closer. It was a bit clearer to Robbie as he sat in his own car and fumed about his plans gone awry.

     Now, four and a half minutes after his failed attempt to raise Scott, Scott’s voice came in crystal clear.

     He could have answered the radio and passed on sweet Hannah’s plea for assistance.

     He wasn’t sure why he waited.

     Perhaps he was a bit peeved at Scott as well as Hannah.

     Scott had done nothing to him, of course. But in the troubled mind of an insane mind, reason matters little.

     And a perceived or imagined slight carries just as much weight as a glove slapped across one’s face.

     Or a kick in the teeth.

     Scott’s indiscretion, in Robbie’s perverted mind, was that he got the chance to see Robbie’s sweet Hannah just an hour before.

     And Robbie hadn’t had the chance to see her since just after the fierce battle at the compound months before.

     It just wasn’t fair.

     But it gave Robbie the justification he needed to resent Scott.

     And to make him wait just a little bit longer to find out his youngest son was missing and might well be in danger.

     And if the few minutes Robbie needlessly waited to pass on such information somehow resulted in harm coming to the boy?

     Who really cared? That wasn’t Robbie’s problem.

     Robbie’s only problem was that John Castro still breathed.

     And as long as John Castro still breathed, sweet Hannah couldn’t belong to Robbie.

     Couldn’t call him sweetheart.

     Couldn’t thank him for the ten thousandth time for taking her in and consoling her and comforting her after John’s tragic death.

     And for patiently waiting until she finally fell in love with him.

     Couldn’t brag constantly to her friends that here was a man… here was
the
man, who saved her from being alone after some unidentified bastard shot down her husband in cold blood. The man who now raised her children. The man they now called “Daddy.”

     No, Robbie’s only problems were that those things couldn’t come soon enough.

     The problem of the missing boy was Scott’s problem, and his alone.

     Robbie chuckled to himself.

     Because it wasn’t Scott’s only problem.

     For Scott shared a common problem with John Castro. They both shared spots on a hit list floating around in Robbie’s damaged mind.

     John was the first on the list, of course. Robbie liked John as a person. But that wouldn’t deter him from taking him out. It had to be that way, for the first step in Robbie’s plan to become a reality.

     For Hannah to become his.

     Scott would be the last person on that same list.

     Robbie had nothing against Scott either. But like John Castro, Scott had something that Robbie wanted.

     Scott had the compound.