Mending Fences (27 page)

“I want Nate’s kid.”

Ice formed in her belly. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“What on earth are you going to do with a child?”

“Not me, stupid whore. Mother. She’s been on drugs just to keep her sanity since Nate died. Keeps saying she doesn’t want to live. I figure, if she has her grandchild, something of Nate that she can love, she’ll be okay.”

Somewhere, outside, someone called her name.

Greg bolted up, then hurried to the side of the bed and looked out the slight opening in the curtain. After a moment, she heard, faintly, an engine. Someone had come to the house. Curran! He’d be worried because she missed the party. How late was it? Being knocked out completely whacked her internal clock. It felt like two in the morning, but maybe it was earlier.

Greg cursed, then jogged around to her side of the bed again. “We’re running short on time now. Tell me where the babysitter lives. We need to get the kid and get moving.”

“You can’t have him.”

His lip curled and he spat on the floor. “Oh, you think?”

“I don’t have him to give you. He was adopted.”

He backhanded her across the cheek. Her face stung. “Don’t lie to me, whore. You’re not the type to give up your kid.”

“How the hell would you know what ‘type’ I am?” She flinched when his hand pulled back, but kept talking. “I’m not lying. Look around the house, Greg. There isn’t a single thing for a toddler.” Would he grow desperate enough to kill her? She tried to think, to formulate a plan. Nothing came to mind.

Greg lowered his hand and pursed his lips, thinking. “You know who adopted him.”

She didn’t answer, but he stepped down to her feet. He tucked the gun into the back of his waistband then reached into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a knife, flicked the blade open. She held her breath as he cut through the duct tape binding her ankles, waiting for the blade to slip.

He efficiently freed her, then flipped the knife closed and hauled her to her feet.

Feet that were dead asleep and wouldn’t support her. She sagged against him. He held her upper arms, keeping her on her feet until she balanced her own weight. The feeling rushing back to her toes hurt, but it helped her sharpen her attention on her surroundings.

He grabbed his gun, and yanked her out of the room by her right arm. She dragged her feet as much as she dared. Curran would call the sheriff, wouldn’t he? How long would it take them to get here? Unless Curran didn’t realize she was in trouble. In that case, she was on her own.

“Where are you taking me?” she said.

He pulled her down the hall. “We’re gonna take a road trip to get the kid, then just for kicks, we’re going home. You owe my mother an apology. Hell, I’ll take you to the cemetery and you can apologize to Nate while you’re at it.”

Her pulse raced. She made herself breathe more slowly, evenly. He’d take her home, huh? Now she knew what a mouse felt like when a housecat went hunting to bring offerings to its humans. “What then?”

His laughter raised gooseflesh on her arms. He’d kill her. Curran. She’d never get the chance to tell him she loved him.

Greg hauled her into the living room, snagged her purse from the floor where she’d dropped it, then pulled her out the front door, into the light snowfall.

He glanced at her purse. “Which pocket do you keep the keys in?”

The keys! He wanted to take the SUV. “I had the keys when I took off before. I must have dropped them when you caught me.”

He let out a string of expletives and yanked her arm hard as he dropped to the ground by the SUV, pulling her down beside him. He looked under the vehicle, hauled her up with him, walked around. No keys.

The sound of approaching vehicles made her heart trip with hope. Greg’s head snapped up at the noise, and he hustled her back into the house and slammed the door as three sheriff’s department vehicles pulled in front of the house. The red and blue lights flashed through the darkness in the living room.

She craned her neck to see out the sidelight. “Why aren’t there sirens?”

Greg pushed her against the wall behind the door. “So I wouldn’t hear them coming, you brainless bitch.”

“What now?”

“Shut up and let me think.” He pressed her to the floor in the corner, then he paced a few steps in each direction.

He obviously hadn’t planned on police presence. Okay, this was good. He couldn’t shoot her now. He’d need her as a hostage. He wouldn’t get out of the house without her. She shifted sideways to make her hands more comfortable, and settled to wait, praying she was right. Praying for her life.

* * * *

Curran waited in his truck, parked on the road shoulder, until the sheriff’s department vehicles and paramedics whipped past him. He pulled the truck around and followed the authorities back to the Campbells’ house.

He turned off the truck and jumped out, only to be stopped as he neared the line of police cars by a young, clean-shaven deputy.

“Sir, you need to stay back.”

He leveled a hard look at the officer. “I don’t intend to disrupt your work, but the woman I’m going to marry is being held in that house, so anything that goes on here, I’m entitled to know.”

The deputy nodded. “I understand, sir, and once we know exactly what the situation is and what we’re dealing with, I’ll make sure you’re informed.” He pointed past Curran. “Is that your truck? We have backup units en route, you’ll need to move it.”

Curran crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not leaving.”

“I’m not asking you to. Just back your truck in between those trees over there. You’ll be able to observe but you won’t be in our way.”

Curran stormed away and moved the truck off the wide driveway and onto the patch of snow-covered lawn, ignoring the tree branches scraping the side of the truck. He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, watching as the deputies milled around. Minutes passed. Someone called out on a loudspeaker, telling those in the house that they were surrounded, and instructing them to pick up the phone, that the deputies wished to speak to them.

More vehicles arrived, including an additional paramedic van. Exiting one of the county trucks was the sheriff. A gray-haired bear of a man, Curran recognized him from his last re-election campaign.

A knock on the passenger window of the truck startled him, sending his already quickened pulse into orbit. He hit the button to unlock the passenger door and Jamie climbed into the truck. Curran growled at him. “Took you long enough.”

“Hey, I figured they didn’t need any more cars down here, so I walked.” Jamie’s face was heavily etched with concern. “What’s going on so far?”

“Hell if I know.” The need to move, to do something, grew too strong. Curran opened his door. “I’m damned well going to find out, though.”

He heard Jamie scramble out of the truck, following him as he strode straight for the sheriff. Another deputy stepped into his path. “Sir, you’re too close. Back off.”

Curran held his ground, but otherwise ignored the man in front of him. “Sheriff Tanner!”

The sheriff heard him, and Curran waited where he was until the man finished his conversation and walked over to him. The deputy left as Curran introduced himself, then said, “Sheriff, I need to know what is happening, because it appears the answer to that is nothing.”

Jamie groaned beside him, muttering something about his failure to be polite.

Sheriff Tanner met his gaze evenly. “Mr. Shaw, there are certain procedures to be followed in a hostage situation.”

Curran’s temper surged to the surface. “I don’t want procedure, dammit. I should be giving you a layout of the house. Aren’t your people supposed to storm in there and rescue her? And make no mistake, when you go in, I’m coming along.”

The sheriff frowned beneath his gray and brown mustache, laid a heavy hand on Curran’s shoulder. “Look, son, I understand how you feel, I really do. But this is not some big action movie, and you’re not a hero. If we can get this guy to release Miss Linden by talking to him, we’ll do it. I won’t lie to you, it may take hours. If we see that isn’t going to work, then when we do make a move, you are staying put. You got that?”

“And if I don’t?”

Sheriff Tanner’s brows raised and his chest puffed out, making him more imposing. “How much good would you be to her if you got shot? Or thrown in jail for interfering with an officer? Do you get my drift, son?”

Curran nodded and the sheriff turned back to the situation at hand. Curran cursed and rubbed his forehead. It wasn’t in his nature to wait for other people to handle things. When something needed doing, he jumped in and did it. Victoria was in serious trouble, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Jamie clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, Curran. You heard the sheriff—this could be a long wait. Let’s go back to the truck, bud.”

They sat in the cab in silence. The cold seeped into Curran’s bones, but if he turned on the engine for the heater, he wouldn’t hear what was going on. So he listened, and watched, and froze.

The woman I’m going to marry is being held in that house.
The words twisted his heart. He couldn’t put his finger on exactly when it happened, but he knew precisely when he’d realized it. Last week, when they went horseback riding, they’d paused at the top of the mountain to take in the breathtaking view of mountains and sky stretching into the distance. Victoria laughed, breaking the silence, and in that moment, in the joy radiating from her, the truth occurred to him.

He loved her.

The understanding satisfied him as much as it shocked him. He’d had his share of relationships, but it was never serious. Well, Amanda had been sort of serious, enough to move in with him. For the most part, though, women decorated his arm and shared his life for a little while, until they tired of one another. Love was never a part of it.

He hadn’t exactly come from a family history of solid, life-long relationships, so he didn’t have a lot to draw on. But the feeling was there. Warmth and happiness and belonging and comfort, centered at his heart, radiating out to every cell of his body.

He’d always heard, if you have to ask if it’s love, it isn’t.

Curran didn’t have to ask. He knew.

The possibility of pain had struck him with his next breath. What if she didn’t love him in return? His love could be a deal-maker or breaker, depending on when he revealed it. Until he was more sure of her feelings, his own would stay locked in his heart. So he hadn’t told her.

Orders barked over the loudspeaker yanked him into the moment. What if he never got the chance to tell her? He pulled the tiny box from his coat pocket, popped the lid up. He’d carted the ring around for two days now. A band of platinum. A white marquis diamond as full of flash and fire as her eyes. Matching rubies, her birthstone, flanked the center stone.

He might never get the chance to see it on her finger. To see her draped across his bed wearing nothing but the ring marking her as his.

Curran dropped his head against the seat, squeezed his eyes closed, and breathed deep, trying to keep his anguish locked away. He had to maintain his composure. He’d be useless to her if—no, when,
when
she was released, if he let his heartache and fear get the best of him.

Jamie stirred on the bench seat, and a flutter of gratefulness passed through him. His friend had a knack for knowing how to give support, and at the same time, leave him in peace with his thoughts.

Curran clamped down on the stress-induced craving for a cigarette shivering inside him. The physical need had left him ages ago, but the psychological addiction still haunted him. He carried an ‘emergency’ pack in the glove compartment, and as his crutch called to him, he gritted his teeth, internally fighting the battle.

The situation with Victoria was completely beyond his control, but dammit, if nothing else, he could at least control his addiction.

* * * *

Victoria scooted up against the wall in the shadowed entry of the house, a few feet from the front door, folding her legs under her. Every muscle screamed with the effort to get her frame off her hands, restrained firmly behind her.

Greg towered over her. “What are you doing?”

“My hands are going numb, I’m just trying to get comfortable.”

He leaned down further, until his mouth neared her ear. “Your comfort is the least of my problems, so hold still.”

He was trying to sound cool, she knew, but in the light flooding into the house from the police cars, she saw sweat beading on his forehead, dripping down his cheeks. He paced three steps away, three steps back, his hands trembling. His index finger rested on the trigger. One slip, and she could end up bleeding.

“You could let me go, Greg. I’m not worth this,” she pleaded, desperately searching for the hot button that would make him release her. “I ruined Nate’s life, okay, I admit it, and I’m sorry. Your mother will understand that you can’t get the baby. Just let me go before you go to prison too, like Nate.” As the words left her mouth, she winced, hoping he didn’t decide she was the source of all his misery and shoot her.

“No, here’s what I’m gonna do.” Desperation made his voice harsh. He yanked her to her feet, turned her so her back was against his chest. “Yeah, you’re tall. The only good thing about you, those long legs of yours. They can’t take me out without shooting you, too, and they won’t take that chance.”