Please, Manuel, run out the back door, she prayed. Maybe he had, because he was nowhere to be found. Monster Man was roaring with rage, upending bookcases, scattering books and magazines, shattering a lamp.
Caroline’s mind cleared. The first thing to do was get as many kids out of here as possible. While the monster was bellowing, wallowing in his rage, she quietly went behind a waist-high counter and opened the back door. Holding a finger to her lips, she ushered out ten of the kids while the man’s back was turned. When he turned around, all he saw was Caroline, who’d moved ten feet from the door. The counter hid the kids slipping out, one by one.
Now for help.
Sylvie had called for official help, but Caroline had a husband who was way more dangerous than Monster Man. She had on a sweater and a long wool jacket over it. Out of habit, she always kept her cell on her at all times. Jack had insisted early in their marriage and it was second nature by now.
Jack’s cell number was the first on speed dial. “Honey, hi.” His deep voice was unmistakable.
Oh God, she’d forgotten to take it off speaker!
She pressed the button to disengage speakerphone and took a chance, knocking over an earthenware bowl of apples to catch the monster’s attention. He turned his head briefly. It was almost painful to watch his reflexes. He was so drugged up they were slow, stimuli penetrating with difficulty.
“Put down that knife!” she screamed, knowing Jack was listening. “There are kids here in the bookstore!”
That would be enough.
Wherever he was, Jack was coming for her now. She knew that like she knew the sun rose in the East. Monster Man paused in trashing her store to look back at her, narrow-eyed. He looked her up and down and, horribly, licked his lips, opening his mouth in a grotesque smile. His teeth were ground down and brown. “Pretty lady,” he growled, and pointed the knife at her. “You’re next. After the brat.” Then he turned back around, looking for Manuel.
Caroline beckoned, and the kids who had been trapped behind Monster Man ran to her. She herded them behind her, pointing to the back door. Five kids were left.Jamal was by her side, trembling with fear. “Where’s Manuel?” she whispered. “Did he get out?”
Jamal shook his head. “He’s holed up in your office,” he whispered .Oh God. The door to her office could be locked from the inside, but it was only a pine door. Monster Man could shove it in with one kick from his boots.
The five kids left were crouching behind the counter. There were none left in the shop. She had to hope that screaming Monster Man, who seemed to have the intelligence of a slug, had the attention span of one, too.
Quietly, Caroline signaled to the kids around her to scuttle to the back door. She shepherded them out as fast as she could while the man bellowed and crashed into chairs and shelves, screaming for Manuel.
Across the street, Sylvie’s head peeped up over the counter and she made the OK sign, then the gun sign. Caroline nodded, then signaled for her to duck back down.
Okay. The police were here, hopefully with SWAT snipers.
She jolted at the sound of wood crashing, but what terrified her even more than that were the animal sounds Monster Man was making as he dragged little Manuel out by the hair. High-pitched, unholy screams of rage that raised the hairs on the back of her neck and along her forearms.
To her dying day, Caroline would never forget those bestial sounds coming out of a human being’s mouth. It was terrifying, like being in the room with a wild animal.
Heart in her mouth, she watched as he dragged little Manuel out by the hair to the middle of the room, stood him up, and held the knife to his throat.
What horrified her most was that the little boy didn’t make a sound. White-faced and trembling, he stood as still as a soldier—even when that meaty fist pulled his hair so hard the scalp raised a little.
And Caroline knew with a sudden swift certainty that this was not the first time this had happened to Manuel. Not the first time he was terrorized and tormented by this human beast.
But by God it would be the last.
A deep calmness settled in her. That child was not leaving these premises with that monster. She’d die first.
“Where’s that worthless bitch?” Manuel’s stepfather screamed. He was purple-faced, sweat streaming from his temples, dripping off his cheeks. The animal smell intensified, a sickening stench. “Where’s your fucking mom?”
Little Manuel’s eyes were closed and his lips were moving. He was praying.
“Huh?” The man shook his stepson like a rag doll. “Where the fuck is she?”
“In the hospital,” Manuel whispered.
“You fucking liar! You lie, just like she lies. There’s nothing wrong with the bitch! All she does is lie about me!” He whipped that big black knife back up, held it to Manuel’s slender throat.
Jack had put her through drills in her training. One of the drills had been observation. He’d suddenly ask her in a restaurant how many waiters there were in a room. How many lamps in a hotel room. Where the back exit was in a coffee shop. How many chairs in the bank lobby.
For a period he drilled her so hard she started observing and memorizing in exasperation, even when he wasn’t there, because he was there in her head.
And now it paid off, because out of the corner of her eye she saw a slender black rod slide over the counter across the street at Sylvie’s. A rifle barrel! And another rod slid over the balustrade of the rooftop of Sylvie’s building. Another sniper.
The cavalry had truly arrived.
She’d learned enough of shooting from Jack to know that the expert marksmen that were behind those rifles wouldn’t miss across twenty yards of street. They couldn’t shoot what they couldn’t see, though, and the monster was in the short side of her L-shaped shop, hidden by a wall. They could hear his bellows but they couldn’t see him.
She could wait it out. Sooner or later, the snipers would get him. But if it was later, he could harm Manuel. Kill him with a flick of that meaty wrist.
Already he was working himself up into a greater state of rage, spittle at the edges of his mouth. He jerked in his agitation and a thin line of red appeared on Manuel’s neck, slowly starting to drip blood.
It was terrifying to see little Manuel’s calm expression. He’d seen this man beat up his mother countless times. His brown eyes lifted to the roof—to heaven—and his white lips moved more quickly.
He was preparing to die. This small, innocent child expected to die at the hands of this monster.
“Hey!” Caroline stood up, waved her hands. Across the street, through a break in the snow, she saw Sylvie’s head above the counter. Sylvie’s eyes opened wide in shock.
But Caroline knew what she was doing. She had a plan and it all depended on the skill and nerve of the police snipers. She trusted them. Jack was friends with more or less everyone on the force and he said they were all good guys and good cops.
They’d better be, because she was just about to put her life in their hands.
“Hey!” she yelled again. “Let that boy go, you son of a bitch!”
His eyes widened. Clearly, no one talked to him like that. At least, no woman.
There was utter silence in her bookstore while twhile Caroline walked over to the man She stopped halfway across the room. He was a bully. He used his bulk to intimidate. He’d want to come to her, loom over her. Make her scared.
If she hadn’t been so incandescent with rage, maybe she would have been scared, because as he walked to her—Manuel stumbling in front of him, blood staining his beige t-shirt—she realized all over again just how huge he was. At least six-five, maybe three hundred pounds. Most of it fat, but some of it muscle. Certainly enough to hurt her. Maybe kill her.
“What do you want with M—” She almost said Manuel’s name and stopped herself just in time. If Monster Man felt she had a connection to the boy, he’d use it. “With the boy?”
“
This worthless piece of trash? This fag? He snivels every time I teach him what’s right and wrong. Ain’t that right, boy?” He gave Manuel a vicious shake. Manuel remained utterly and completely still. Only his lips moved. “Ain’t that right, boy?”
Sweat broke out all over her body when he pulled Manuel’s head back more forcefully, exposing the throat like a lamb’s at slaughter time.
“Little fucker’s gonna make her come back to me. She left me. My wife fucking left me! Police told me I can’t go near her or the boy. Well, how about this? I’ve got the boy and now I’ll get her.”
They were fully in the center of the room now, lit up like actors on a stage. Everyone outside could see exactly what the situation was. She understood completely that they didn’t dare take a shot because the man was so huge he could fall on Manuel, or slit the boy’s throat as he dropped.
He was also close enough to Caroline to take another swipe at her.
It was too dangerous to take a shot now. They would be watching carefully through their scopes. If matters precipitated, if he pressed the knife more closely, they just might take the shot. And it might kill Manuel.
Caroline made sure she was off to the side, affording the snipers a clear shot. “Do you want me to call her?” she asked.
“Huh?”
He frowned, the words slowly making their way through the rot and pus in his drug-addled head.
She pulled her smart-phone from her pocket, finger hovering over the screen. “Do you want me to call your wife? Tell her to come?”
Unseen by the monster, Manuel went even whiter, trying to shake his head no, though his head was held in an iron grip.
The idea had made its way through what passed for the man’s brains. A wide smile broke through. “Yeah. Fuck yeah. Tell that bitch to get here pronto. I have things to say to her.”
“Where is she?”
“Hospital,” he said sullenly. “Faking it.”
There was only one hospital in town. Caroline nodded. “I happen to have the hospital right on speed dial,” she lied. “So . . . what’s her name?”
“Bitch!” he screamed. “Her name is Bitch! Because she is one!”
“I’m sure she is,” Caroline said smoothly. “But I still need a name.”
“Anna.” The word was dragged out of him in a snarl. “Anna Ramirez Pedersen. Sometimes she drops my name, the cunt. Just calls herself Ramirez.”
“Okay. I’m calling now.” She pretended to punch in a number and brought the phone to her ear. “Yes,” she said brightly, as if to an receptionist. “This is Caroline Prescott at First Page. I’d like to speak with Anna Ramirez Pedersen, please.”
“Honey.” Jack’s voice came on, deep and low. “I’m right outside. We’ve got rifles on the guy. The instant you and the boy drop to the floor they’ll take the shot.”
Oh God. Her knees nearly buckled with relief at hearing Jack’s voice, a lifeline to sanity.
“Okay, yes,” she answered, as if in response to someone at the hospital. “I understand. I’ll wait.”
“Try to get away from the window, there’ll be glass everywhere,” Jack said.
“Uh huh.” She looked over at Monster Man. “Yes, I’ll hold.”
Jack was in her head now. All the thousands of hours of lessons she’d absorbed.
Combat time is in slow motion. Everything slows, including your heart rate. Don’t get tunnel vision. Keep all your senses open. Observe before acting.
And damned if time didn’t slow down. She took in everything—the man’s stance, the angle at which he held the knife to Manuel’s throat, their distance to the window.
She started hyperventilating, dragging in oxygen, and in her head calculated the three elements forming a triangle—herself, the monster holding Manuel, and the snipers outside.
She ran through her head the things that had to happen to free the little boy from his lunatic stepfather—visualized it—and acted.
Caroline had never been particularly athletic in her childhood but she had loved softball and had been an excellent pitcher.
“Yes,” she said, straightening suddenly as if a new voice were on the line. “Mrs. Pedersen? Yes, there’s someone who wants to talk to you.”
Monster Man’s eyes gleamed. Finally. The woman he was hard-wired to torment. On the phone, and with their son under threat, so she’d be guaranteed to obey and to suffer. He was in monster heaven. With his free hand he curled his meaty fingers upwards in the universal gimme gesture.
Oh, yeah.
Everything slowed down even more, her movements became calculated and precise.
She pitched the phone to the man, ensuring it fell short, so he’d have to lunge to pick it up. He loosened his hold on Manuel, the knife hand moving away. While the phone was still in the air, Caroline launched herself at Manuel, taking him to the ground and rolling with him, coming to a stop with her body covering his, shielding his little head with her arms.
The world exploded.
Glass flew in bright shiny shards almost indistinguishable from the gusts of snow blowing into the shop. She looked up in horror at the red mist in the midst of the white glass and snow, then down at the man who’d fallen like a sack of meat.
Deader’n shit, as Jack said.
Good! she thought viciously.
And then she didn’t have time to think anything at all because a billion men dressed in black and wielding big black guns flooded the bookstore shouting, and a white-faced Jack had pulled her up and into an embrace so tight she couldn’t breathe.
He was trembling.
Her husband, tough-as-nails Jack Prescott, was trembling, and his cheeks were wet.
“God,” he groaned and gave a huge shudder. “I think I lost about fifty years off my life.”
Caroline reached up to kiss him, then fought free.
Four men were crouched on their haunches around the massive corpse, holding on to their rifle barrels. Blood seeped from the back of the monster’s head. Caroline looked down at him, rage and hatred in her heart, a mix of emotions she’d never had before. Didn’t even know she was capable of having.
He was dead and she was glad he was dead. Maybe, just maybe, Manuel and his mother could put this behind them and make a life for themselves.
An image blossomed in her head—of tiny, trembling Manuel, holding still, frozen with terror, because he knew his stepfather was perfectly capable of slitting his throat—and she hauled off and kicked the corpse in the side as hard as she could.
Four hard male faces turned to her in surprise.
“Sorry,” she gritted. “Tell the coroner he fell on something.”
One guy, who looked like he ate nails for breakfast, snapped off a two-fingered salute. “Yes, ma’am.”
Caroline dropped to her knees next to Manuel, who was still curled up in a little ball. Her heart squeezed tightly. He looked so slight, so vulnerable. How could anyone do this to a child?
She touched the back of his head, cupping it lightly, not knowing if he wanted to be touched at all. Abused children often couldn’t bear to be touched by an adult.
“It’s okay,” she whispered. “It’s all over.”
His head whipped up and he tried to turn to look back at the corpse of his stepfather, but she gently turned his face back to hers. The sadness in his gaze wrenched her heart. He wasn’t crying, though. His eyes were dry. He was a tough little soldier. “I want Mama,” he whispered.
The tough-looking police officer rose and crossed to them, holding out a huge hand. Caroline rose, too, with the help of Jack’s strong hand because her legs felt light. She was feeling light all over, particularly her head. It was like a helium-filled balloon that would float away if it weren’t attached to her neck.
The big officer kept his hand out to Manuel, waiting patiently. “We’ll take you to your mama,” he said gently. “She’s waiting for you.” His big hand didn’t move. Finally, Manuel put his tiny hand in h
is.
Caroline let out a pent-up breath.
The police officer’s eyes met hers. For such a big bruiser, he had kind eyes. “Social services is on the way over, ma’am.” He waved his free hand. “For everyone else, too. All the other kids are safe out back.”
Caroline shivered. The temperature in her bookshop was the same as outside. “Can the kids wait across the street, where there’s hot chocolate and muffins?” she asked. “There’d be plenty of hot chocolate and muffins for your men, too.”
She shivered again. It wasn’t the cold, or just the cold. It was aftershock.
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you. We’ll be taking your statement—”
“Tomorrow,” Jack said in a hard voice. “She’ll be giving her statement tomorrow. She’s been through hell and I’m taking her home. Right now.”
The two men stared at each other, two alpha males with two different agendas. Caroline could almost see the waves of male will battling back and forth, and the officer broke first. He looked away, then back at Jack with a huff of breath. “Okay,, Prescott. Tomorrow. I’ll be expecting her no later than eleven.”
“Noon,” her husband responded. He gestured to her ruined bookshop. “I’m sending people in to board up the windows and clean up. We’ll be spending tomorrow morning here.”
The cop rolled his eyes. “Okay. Noon. The hot chocolate and those muffins better be good.”
“The best,” Caroline promised, then sagged against Jack, the voices around her growing distant, the room turning black.
Jack scooped up his wife and walked out with her in his arms, meeting the eyes of all the cops filling the room. He was awash in fear and anxiety and would have welcomed someone trying to stop him.
He was itching for a fight, since the motherfucker with the knife was already dead.
But no one said anything—just silently shifted and made way for him in the swirling snow coming in through the shattered picture window.
It was a miracle his heart hadn’t stopped when he answered his cell, only to hear the screams of children and Caroline yelling put down that knife!