Tony went cold. “Larry?”
“Yeah. I don’t have details, but I hear sirens. They may have gotten to him by now, but they’re coming from the other direction and they don’t know about Tracy. Jake’s gone to get Jimmy. Apparently Bill had him, but Jimmy escaped. Bill’s still got Beth, though! Jimmy said he’s in the Buick. Tony, he’s holding her hostage!”
Tony’s heart lurched. He longed to check on Larry, but he knew that Beth’s safety had to come first. “Lynda, I’m on my way.”
It took only a few minutes to put an all-points bulletin out on the Buick, and soon roadblocks had been set up on the outskirts of town, and the policemen in other parts of the county were alerted. Additional ambulances and squad cars were dispatched to the children’s home. As soon as the prosecutor had been informed of the circumstances, officers were sent to check out the warehouse. When they tallied over a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of stolen goods, the prosecutor issued warrants for the arrest of Judge Wyatt, Sheila Axelrod, and her husband—in whose names the warehouse was listed—and all of the employees of the children’s home, who had fled.
At the home, Nick paced the lawn in front of the cottages as they loaded Larry into an ambulance. He was still alive, thank God; Nick had no idea how badly he was injured. All he knew was that Beth was in danger of the same fate. In a few moments, when he saw Tony’s car barreling into the parking lot, he bolted toward him.
Tony got out of the car and met him halfway. “How’s Larry?”
“Alive,” Nick said. “But unconscious. He’s lost a lot of blood. It doesn’t look good.”
Tony fought the panicked rage and the furious despair threatening to smother him, and looked toward the ambulance, on its way off the property with its lights flashing. He was halfway back to his car, intending to follow it, when a cop shouted, “They’ve spotted Brandon’s car! It’s heading up Highway 18 toward St. Pete. There’s a high-speed chase underway.” Tony hopped behind the wheel and cranked the engine, knowing there was nothing more he could do for Larry, but maybe he could help save Beth.
“He’s going to kill her!” Nick shouted. “Please, Tony, let me come with you.”
“Who’ll take care of placing these children for the night?”
“My colleagues,” Nick answered. “I’ve already called in every social worker in the county. They’re on their way. They can handle it.”
“Nick, listen—we just learned that Sheila Axelrod is involved. She’s probably being arrested as we speak. That leaves you. You’re the only one who can take care of these kids right now. We’re counting on you.”
“Sheila?” he asked, then backed away, trying to sort it all out. He shook the information from his head and decided he could only deal with one thing at a time. “But what about Beth?”
“We’ll take care of Beth. That’s our job.”
Nick kicked at some invisible wall in the air. “How could she do this? How could she confront him? She’s terrified of him—and she knew he would kill her!”
“She did it for the kids,” Tony said. “And right now she would want you to think of the kids, too.”
Nick hesitated. “All right,” he said. “I’ll stay. But call me the minute you hear anything!”
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
In the Buick, Bill cursed as the flashing lights grew closer behind him. He turned off onto a little country road, then slammed his accelerator to the floor, flying around corners and curves. But the police stayed close behind him.
He kept one arm clamped around Beth’s neck, with the cold barrel of the gun pressed against her cheek. Beth sat as still as she could, frightened that the slightest provocation might cause him to pull the trigger. He had nothing to lose. Nothing except his hostage.
As he drove, she prayed. Prayed that he wouldn’t lose the police. Prayed that they would manage to set up a roadblock ahead of him. Prayed that she would find an opportunity to escape. Tears streamed down her face, born of all the confusing emotions whirling through her heart.
“You’ve sure caused a lot of trouble,” Bill said through his teeth, clamping his arm tighter. “Unbelievable.”
Beth tried to lift her head enough to see the squad cars in the rearview mirror, but Bill let go of the wheel, grabbed a handful of hair, and jerked her head back against the seat. “Be still,” he said. “I didn’t tell you to move. I’m not ready to kill you yet.”
Only then did he notice the tears running down her face. “I’ve never seen you cry, Beth, darlin’,” he mocked, his eyes back on the twisting road again. “Tears become you.”
She stiffened her lips, determined not to shed another tear in front of him.
“Funny how scared you are now,” he said. “You weren’t scared at all when you were coming after me with both barrels for that newspaper of yours, hiding Jimmy from me, putting the police on my tail, turning HRS against me. But you know what? It didn’t matter. I have friends in high places. Nothing you did could have gotten me. Even now, I’ll probably get out of this scot-free.”
“If they don’t kill you first,” she muttered.
“They can’t kill me,” he said. “They won’t even aim a gun at me as long as I’ve got this one pointed at your head. You’re my ticket out of here.”
She didn’t respond. And as the road emerged from the woodland and led them through a complex of industrial buildings, she watched his eyes dart, searching for something. “We’re gonna find us a building,” he said, glancing at the rearview mirror to gauge the distance between himself and the nearest cop behind them. “If I drive up to the front door, we’ll have just enough time to get inside before they catch up.”
“And then what?”
“Then I can negotiate.”
“For what?”
“For a plane. I’m leaving the country, and you’re coming with me.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Yes, you are,” he chuckled. “If I have to drag your dead body with me, you’re going. Like I said, you’re my ticket, and I’m not letting you go.”
He swerved into a gravel parking lot in front of a building with light coming through the windows. Through the glass, they could see a man heading for the front window, probably alerted by the sirens. Bill skidded to a stop in front of the door. Grabbing Beth’s hair, he pulled her behind him as he bolted from the car and, putting his shoulder to the door, broke through into the building.
The man who’d been working there backed into a stack of boxes, knocking them over. “What the—”
“Get out!” Bill screamed. “Get out or I’ll kill you!”
The man stumbled to the door and ran out into the night. By now the parking lot was filling with police cars—skidding in the gravel, sirens blaring, their doors flying open as the officers leaped out to crouch next to the cars, guns drawn.
Bill threw Beth down on the floor behind a desk, reached to the wall behind him to turn off all the lights in the room, and grabbed the phone.
Wincing in pain, Beth looked down. The front of her shirt was spotted with blood where her wound was bleeding through the bandages. She tried to push back the pain and concentrate, instead, on finding some means of escape.
“Now we wait for them to call,” he said. “Should be just a matter of minutes.”
Beth jumped when the telephone rang almost on cue. He picked it up confidently, wiping sweat out of his eyes with the back of his gun hand. “One wrong move and she’s dead,” he said.
“What do you want, Brandon?” Beth could hear the voice from the phone’s ear piece.
“A plane,” Bill said. “I want a plane to take me to Cozumel.”
“We’re not going to get you a plane, Brandon.”
“Then you’d better start calling her next of kin.” He chuckled and glanced down at her. “Not that she has any.”
“If you let her go, we’ll talk about a plane.”
Bill laughed. “You think I’m stupid? She’s the only reason you haven’t killed me yet.
I’m not letting her go.”
Bill hung up, sat down, and tried to catch his breath. Beth leaned back against a file cabinet. He kept the gun leveled at her, just inches from her face. Desperately, her eyes searched the darkened room, lit only by the flashing lights coming through the windows. This appeared to be a small accounting office. She looked for a knife, a letter opener, anything she could use as a weapon if she needed one. She saw nothing.
Bill got down onto the floor next to her and dragged her face close to his. His breath smelled stale, and she turned her face. “You know, Beth, I always liked you. Sure will be a shame when I have to kill you.”
She glared back into his eyes. “Go ahead, Bill. Kill me.” But she knew he wouldn’t. Not yet.
Bill chuckled. “In good time, darlin’. In good time. How do you feel about being buried in Cozumel? ’Course, we could work out a burial at sea, if you’d prefer that. I could rent a boat and take you out over the Caribbean.”
The phone rang again, and he jerked it up. “You got the plane?”
“This is Tony Danks,” Beth heard the voice say. “I’m a detective with the St. Clair Police Department. I’m on my way over, and I think we can work something out.”
“A plane is all I want worked out,” Bill said. “I want a plane to get me out of the country. You have one hour, and then I’m gonna kill her.”
“The minute you pull the trigger, we’ll be on you like fleas on a mutt. I’d think twice before I tried that,” Tony said.
“Get me the plane,” Bill said, “and nobody else has to die.”
Tony punched “end” on his cell phone, then punched in the number of the hospital emergency room. Concentrating on high-speed, one-handed steering down this curving road through the woods, he asked the nurse about Larry’s condition. He was put on hold for what seemed an eternity, and finally, the nurse came back on the line and told him that they weren’t allowed to give out any information until Larry’s family was contacted. Tony slammed the phone down on the seat next to him and kept driving. Was Larry dead? Was that why they couldn’t give him any information? He breathed a prayer that it wasn’t so, rubbed the mist stinging his eyes, and pushed his car even faster.
Moments later, he skidded into the parking lot of the building where Bill was holding Beth. He grabbed his cell phone, made a quick call to the airport, then called the children’s home and asked for Jake, who was still waiting there with Lynda and all the children.
“Jake, I need a favor,” he shouted into the phone. “We’ve found Brandon. He’s holed up in a building, holding Beth hostage. He wants a plane and a pilot. We’re running out of time, Jake. We’ve got a plane, but we need a pilot. Do you have your license back yet?”
“You bet I do,” Jake said.
“All right, get to the airport as fast as you can. We’re trying to come up with a plan.”
Suddenly Tony heard Nick’s voice on the line. “Tony, where’s Beth?”
“He’s holding her hostage, Nick. He’s demanding a plane.”
“Don’t let him take her out of the country!” Nick cried. “You’ve got to stop him!”
“We’re going to.”
“I’m coming over there right now,” Nick said.
Tony thought about that for a second. “The other social workers are there to take care of the kids?”
“They are.”
“All right. If you promise to stay out of the way and not do anything stupid, I’ll give you the address.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
Less than fifteen minutes later, Nick found himself crouching with Tony behind the squad cars in front of the building where Bill held Beth. Beside him, Tony dialed the number of the phone inside.
“We got you a plane,” Tony said when Brandon answered. “And a pilot. How do you want to be transported to the airport?”
Bill hesitated. “My car,” he said.
“You know we’re not gonna let you drive off without an escort.”
“Fine,” Bill said. “Escort me. But once I hit the airport tarmac you stay back. I’m getting on that plane and out of here, and if anybody tries to stop me, Beth will be history.”
Nick held his breath as the building’s front door opened and Bill Brandon stepped out with an arm around Beth’s neck. He opened the car’s passenger door and climbed in, pulling her with him, then slid across to the steering wheel. He was obviously trying to keep Beth between him and the police, so that they wouldn’t be able to get a clear shot at him without endangering Beth, too.
Nick watched as Bill’s car started and pulled out on the street. The police jumped into their cars and Nick into his, following at the end of the procession.
“Lord, you’ve got to save her,” he said as he drove. “I don’t know why you brought her into my life, but I haven’t felt like this about a woman in a long time, maybe never.” His voice cracked as he drove at breakneck speed behind the procession of police cars, with a killer at the front of the caravan who seemed to be in control of it all.
When they reached the airport, the squad cars stayed back as Bill headed for the waiting plane. Nick stopped his car back beyond the fence and got out, standing with the cops to watch.
Bill pulled Beth out of the car and dragged her toward the plane. The only way into the plane was to climb up onto the wing and go in from there, but to do that, Bill had to let Beth go for a moment. Nick watched, holding his breath, as he lifted her up onto the wing, then quickly followed her before she could balk and run.
Nick let out a heavy, disappointed breath as the plane began to taxi out toward the runway.
“What now?” Nick asked Tony.
“Pray,” Tony said. “Pray hard.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY
In the plane, Jake tried to stay calm as Bill panted on the seat behind him, still holding Beth in a wrenching grip with one hand and pressing the barrel of the gun to her temple with the other. Jake didn’t know whether she had noticed that he was the one flying the plane. When Bill had searched him after getting on, he thought Beth may have realized it was him. “Come on! Get moving,” Bill said, “before they pull something.”
“St. Clair Unicom,” Jake said into the microphone. “Cessna 3–0–2–2 Delta requesting takeoff.”
There was a crackling on the other end. “Cessna 3–0–2–2 Delta, go ahead. All’s clear. Runway 3.”
It was the same runway where Jake and Lynda had crashed, but he had overcome the fear of crashing months ago. Still, he had never flown at gunpoint before, and he’d never had a man like Bill Brandon in his plane. He glanced back at the couple entangled on the seat behind him. “Cozumel, huh? Nice place. I’ve been there.”
“Shut up and fly the plane,” Bill said. “And turn the light on back here. I don’t want any surprises.”
Jake cut on the dim light over their seats. Instantly, the light cast a reflection of the two onto the windshield in front of Jake, offering him a clear view of the backseat. He taxied the rest of the way to the runway, straightened the plane, and increased power to the engine. Beth wasn’t fighting, and Bill had relaxed his hold on the gun. From the expression on his face and the way he was sweating, Jake had the feeling that Bill Brandon didn’t like to fly.
The accelerating plane approached the end of the runway and lifted off, and Bill’s face seemed to grow paler. His hold on Beth was looser now, and he seemed distracted—as though airsickness was assaulting him now.
Jake met Beth’s eyes in the glass, hoping she was thinking what he was thinking. With a little help from Jake, Beth might be able to knock the gun out of his hand.
He thought of that first trip with Lynda, when he’d played the hotdogger and dipped and zigzagged all over the sky like a Thunderbird. Even Lynda, a seasoned pilot, had gone pale at that. A good dip might just push Bill over the edge.
Jake took a deep breath, braced himself—then shoved the control yoke forward, making the plane drop, them quickly pulled it back up.
Bill fell backward agai
nst the seat, but Beth was ready. With a quick swing, she knocked the gun from his hand. “You sniveling piece of trash!” he shouted, bringing his backhand across her face as he dove for the gun. She slid to the floor on her knees, and just before he grabbed the pistol, she reached it herself. His grip on her wrist made her drop it, but she managed to knock it with her elbow, sending it sliding under the seat.
“Jake, help!” she screamed as Bill hit the floor, grabbing her hair and banging her head into the floor, while he groped under the seat for the gun.
Jake couldn’t abandon the controls and felt helpless as he tried to find something that could be used as a weapon. “Get the gun, Beth. You have to get the gun!” He looked back and saw the blood seeping through the side of her shirt around the edges of the bandage on her chest. Still, she lurched under the seat, reaching, stretching ...
Jake pulled the plane up, made a steep climb, then dove suddenly, making Bill slide toward the front of the plane. “Now, Beth!” Jake shouted.
Twisting her body sideways, Beth dropped onto her stomach and pushed further under the seat until, at last, with a desperate, painful lunge, she reached the gun. Sliding backwards out from under the seat, she put her back to the plane’s side wall and pushed with her feet until she was as near upright as she could get in the small plane. She pointed the gun at Bill’s forehead.
“I got it, Jake!” she shouted.
Jake glanced back at her. Blood was dripping down her temple where Bill had slammed her head into the floor, and more blood soaked through her shirt. Her eyes were venomous as she aimed the gun at the man who had tormented her for most of her life. Her hands trembled as she clutched the pistol in a life-or-death grip.
“Don’t shoot, Beth,” Jake said. “I’m turning around.”
“I won’t shoot,” she said. “Not until we’re on the ground.”
There were strings of wet hair plastered to Bill’s forehead, and beads of sweat rolling down his face. He looked up at her. “Come on, Beth. You couldn’t pull that trigger. You know I didn’t raise you to be a killer.”