Читать книгу Twin Threat Christmas - Rachelle McCalla - Страница 11

ONE

She couldn’t breathe. Vanessa had feared this moment for years, envisioned it repeatedly over the past few months, watched it play out time after time in her nightmares. And yet, for all its familiarity, nothing could match the terror she felt now that it was actually happening.

It was worse than she’d imagined it.

The black Land Rover pulled into the middle of the driveway.

The middle! Why block the entire double-lane driveway? Why today?

Because they didn’t want anyone to get out alive, that was why.

“Mommy, Mommy!” Emma tugged at Vanessa’s shirt. “My apple juice!”

Vanessa sucked in enough air to speak. “Yes, Emma. I have your apple juice right here. You can drink it in the car. We’re going to do the quiet drill again. Remember the quiet drill?”

To Vanessa’s relief, her four-year-old’s eyes lit up. “The quiet drill. Yes! But Sammy is napping.”

“I know, sweetheart.” Vanessa handed her daughter the sippy cup of juice. “It will be okay. Can you get your jacket on? And tell Abby. Remember to whisper. Everything will be okay.” Vanessa spoke the last words as much for her own reassurance as for Emma’s. She gave her daughter an encouraging smile, then glanced back out the basement-level window in time to see an all-too-familiar pair of black shoes looking not too out of place in the quiet suburban cul-de-sac.

And boots. Two pairs. No, three.

Virgil had extra guns with him today.

Of course he did. He’d told Jeff on his last visit there wouldn’t be another warning. His money or his life...and the lives of Vanessa and the children.

As always, Jeff had made the deal without consulting her. Vanessa had no intention of letting him bargain with their lives. She’d been preparing ever since, hiding emergency supplies in the garage, ready to go. Drilling the children on a swift and silent evacuation. She was ready—as prepared as anyone ever could be.

But why did Virgil have to park in the middle of the driveway?

The doorbell echoed through the house, and Vanessa flew into action. She might not have much time. Sure, Virgil liked to talk. She hoped he’d try to threaten Jeff a little longer in hopes of squeezing the money out of him, but there was every chance the mobster—gangster, whatever he was, Vanessa had never really wanted to know—might drag the kids out first in an effort to make his argument more compelling.

Sammy was still asleep, just as Emma said. Vanessa scooped up the ten-month-old and set him as gently as possible into his waiting car seat.

This was the part of her escape plan that troubled her most, one of the biggest reasons she’d never been brave enough—or desperate enough—to attempt to escape with the kids before. Abby and Emma could be depended upon to flee in silence. But if Sam cried, he would give away their position, and she couldn’t stop him.

His rosebud lips opened in protest as Vanessa tucked one arm through the five-point harness. Prepared, Vanessa slipped a pacifier into his open mouth and prayed.

Please, Lord. If ever I needed Your help, it’s today.

Sammy made a grumpy face, but his eyes stayed closed and he started sucking.

Gently, Vanessa pulled his other arm through its strap, buckled him in and hoisted up the car seat, all but running to the stairs that led to the garage.

As she rose toward the second floor, she could hear Virgil arguing with Jeff in the living room upstairs, their voices muffled but angry. They were in the house.

She had to hurry, and reached for the forbidden keys. Jeff almost never allowed her to drive, not unless he was with her, his gun at his side to make sure she didn’t try to get away from him. That the keys were on a peg by the garage at all was a recent concession, made only after Virgil’s latest threat.

That Jeff had agreed meant he, too, understood Virgil wasn’t messing around. Jeff had kept her tied up for the first year after he’d kidnapped her, only allowing her a tiny bit of freedom in the locked basement after Abby was born. Even now, he’d strictly told her she wasn’t to try to leave the basement without him.

But still the keys were there. The door that led to the garage was unlocked. On some level, whether consciously or not, Jeff had allowed her a means of running for her life—even if it meant escaping from him, something he’d long told her she could never do.

Vanessa grabbed the fat ring of keys as she slipped through the door to the garage.

Abby and Emma looked at her from inside the Sequoia with anxious eyes as Vanessa carried Sammy into the garage. “Did you get the bags?” she asked her seven-year-old as she settled the infant car seat into place.

“Yes,” Abby whispered, true to the plan.

A quick glance in the third-row seat confirmed everything was in place.

Everything but the enormous vehicle blocking the driveway.

Vanessa climbed into the driver’s seat. “Everybody buckled?” she asked, latching her own seat belt.

“Yes, Mommy.”

Now what? The next step of the drill was to back out of the driveway as quickly as possible, to get away before Virgil or his men could get off a shot. But with the house on one side of the driveway and the steep, terraced side of the landscaped hill on the immediate other side, there was no way out of the garage except the driveway, and Virgil had blocked it. The Land Rover was worse than a solid wall behind them.

A solid wall.

Vanessa looked at the wall in front of her. Plywood sheathing, two-by-fours spaced widely apart. And on the other side, vinyl siding.

How hard could it be?

She didn’t have time to find out. She didn’t have options. There was certain death in every other direction. Jeff had forced her to witness enough of Virgil’s “disciplinary measures” to know his warnings weren’t empty threats.

Maybe she should have tried to get away before, even years before, but Jeff had always made certain that wasn’t possible. Even once Abby was born and Vanessa wasn’t bound with ropes or chains, it became too difficult to escape with a baby in tow. Jeff kept them locked in the basement whenever he wasn’t home to guard over her. For the past seven years, her priority had been giving her children a normal childhood—or as close to normal as she could provide under Jeff’s armed supervision.

Jeff’s threats echoed through her thoughts even now. Jeff knew too much about her family. He’d threatened to torture and kill her grandfather and sister, to take her children from her, malign her as a bad mother, claiming she’d lied to him about her real age and identity

No, Vanessa hadn’t dared try to escape, not as long as Jeff was alive to come after her or give information for Virgil to track down everyone she held dear.

But this time, Virgil’s threat was bigger than Jeff’s. Virgil had promised the last time that if he had to come back, he wouldn’t let any of them live, not even Jeff—which meant Jeff couldn’t come after her or tell Virgil anything that might help him find her.

In some ways the criminal was freeing her.

If only his vehicle wasn’t barring the way. It was far, far too late to call the police, even if Vanessa had any hope they’d let her keep her children. No, Jeff had made clear what she’d lose if she tried to get the law on her side. Her word against his, and that of his associates.

There was only one way out of the garage

Dear Lord, please let this work.

“Okay, girls, tuck your heads like I told you.” Vanessa had originally planned for the girls to lay their heads on their laps, covered by their arms, to protect them from possible gunfire as she backed down the driveway past the living-room picture window. But a tucked-head position might be just as protective going the other direction.

She had a good ten feet of empty storage space in front of her, maybe more. Normally she would never start a vehicle inside a closed garage, but they wouldn’t be in there for more than a few seconds.

She turned the key, threw the SUV into gear and stomped on the gas, throwing one arm up over her face and pinching her eyes shut, holding tight to the steering wheel with her other hand. The vehicle leaped forward, slamming into the wall, pushing through it with the sound of splintering wood and cracking boards.

“Mommy! You drove through the wall!”

“I know, Emma. It’s okay.” Vanessa steered around the girls’ playhouse. The Sequoia lurched across the sandbox, flattening the tall privacy fence that had long held them prisoner, clipping the neighbor’s back bushes en route to the street.

The big tires lumbered down the curb. Vanessa cruised down the familiar boulevard, four blocks, five, and came to a stop at the traffic light. She checked for oncoming traffic. Finding the way clear, she turned right onto the busy street, checked her rearview mirror for any sign of the Land Rover and breathed the tiniest sigh of relief.

No sign of them. Yet.

But Virgil and his men could come after them any moment.

The front of the vehicle was probably scratched and dented, but the windshield hadn’t even cracked. The girls were wide-eyed but silent. Sammy was whimpering. Still, most important, they were alive.

* * *

Alert!

Abducted children in danger!

Eric stopped flipping through the channels on the cabin’s relic of a television as the screen flashed pictures of two little girls and a baby. A boy. Samuel.

The reporter rattled off the details in a matter-of-fact voice. “The Nelson children are believed to be with their mother. Their father’s body was found this evening. Authorities at this time are assuming he was shot by his wife, who took the children following a domestic dispute.”

“So what’s the forecast?” Debbi, Eric’s younger sister, bounded into the room behind him, then stopped short. “Oh, no.”

“They are believed to be traveling in a brown Toyota Sequoia, which may have front-end damage. Authorities believe the woman drove through the back wall of the garage as she left.”

The scene on the screen switched from the children’s faces to a picture of an SUV superimposed over footage of splintered two-by-fours and the busted-out back wall of a garage.

The reporter turned to a man standing in front of a black Land Rover. “This is Chicago businessman Virgil Greenwood, who discovered the body of Jeffrey Nelson at Mr. Nelson’s Barrington home this evening. Mr. Greenwood, can you tell us what happened?”

Virgil Greenwood, a middle-aged man in a business suit, nodded soberly. “Mr. Nelson and I were supposed to have a business dinner together today. I had made arrangements to pick him up, but when I arrived, no one answered the door. I could see the living room through the window and thought I saw Mr. Nelson there, but when I looked closer, I could see he’d been shot. The front door was unlocked. I let myself in. Of course, my first thought was for his family. I knew he had a wife and kids. So I called out, ‘Hello, is anyone home?’ something like that—and then I heard the crash.”

“That’s when Mrs. Nelson drove through the garage?” the reporter confirmed.

“Yes, yes, the sound came from that direction. I ran to see, but the vehicle was already gone. But you can see the ruts.”

“Let’s get another look at those ruts,” the reporter requested, and the screen image shifted again.

“Eric?” Debbi touched his arm. “You don’t have to watch this.”

“I know.” Eric’s fingers twitched over the buttons on the remote, but he couldn’t bring himself to switch the channel. “They said the kids might be in danger. I have to hear what they think happened.”

“It’s okay. The forecast can wait. I can look outside. It was warm today, but the evening will be cooler. Typical October in Illinois.” Debbi spoke softly, almost as though she was afraid to disturb him.

She’d been that way eight years ago, too, when Vanessa first disappeared, and every time an unexpected memory or a missing-child report would trigger flashbacks. Being here at the cabin where he and Vanessa had spent so much time together both as kids and teens, the memories were closer to the surface, more real and harder to suppress.

Virgil’s voice continued as the camera panned in for a close-up of the tire tracks that cut jagged lines through an otherwise picturesque backyard. “What kind of crazy person would drive through the garage wall? And with the kids in the car? At least, I hope she had her kids with her. Who knows what she might have done with them if she did this to Jeff?”

The reporter, instead of shushing the man’s musings, encouraged them. “You mentioned you might know what could have prompted her to act, isn’t that right, Mr. Greenwood?”

“Oh, Jeff said he thought his wife was having an affair. I suppose she decided to leave him. Maybe they fought about it, I don’t know. It’s just crazy, isn’t it? They need to find those kids before she does anything to them. It’s getting dark out.”

“And here is a picture of the mother, Madison Nelson, who is believed to have abducted her own children after shooting their father dead.” A woman’s face appeared on the screen—blond curly hair, tired eyes, a wan smile.

“What kind of crazy woman does a thing like that?” Debbi muttered behind him.

But Eric was too distracted by the image to attempt to answer her question. “She almost looks like Vanessa.”

“Vanessa had brown hair, not blond,” Debbi corrected quickly. “And she’s too young to have a seven-year-old.”

“She was seventeen when she disappeared eight years ago.”

“She was declared legally dead.”

“Doesn’t mean she is dead.”

“Vanessa wouldn’t shoot her husband and leave him for another guy.”

“That is true. What kind of woman would do a thing like that?” Eric gripped the remote, finally winning the battle to change channels as the reporter intoned about the importance of viewers reporting any sign of the vehicle, the children or their mother—and speculations about the man she may have run away to join. “And what kind of guy would get involved with such a crazy person?”

* * *

Sammy was asleep when Vanessa placed his car seat in the concrete manger of the life-size nativity scene in front of her sister’s house. She felt a pang of doubt. Was she right to leave the baby with her sister? It was going to be difficult enough to run with the girls. Sammy needed frequent feedings and diaper changes. The girls, at least, could stay quiet when they needed to.

He’d be safer with Alyssa. Wouldn’t he? Vanessa looked at the concrete sculptures of Mary and Joseph, poised protectively over the manger. Mary’s expression of love and concern seemed to say she’d look over the child.

Vanessa knew she didn’t dare linger, no matter how much she wished she could see her sister. If Alyssa saw her, she’d have to take the time to explain, and that would endanger them all. Virgil’s men might catch up to her at any time, and Sammy would only be safe if the men who were after her didn’t know where she’d left him.

Swallowing back the emotion that tightened her throat and blurred her vision, she ran to the Sequoia, parked almost out of sight down the street. She’d spotted Alyssa going into the house as she pulled up, and suspected, based on the open door to the workshop, her sister would be coming out again soon.

Sure enough, once she was inside the vehicle, she and the girls watched through the windows as Alyssa stepped outside the front door, headed toward the baby.

Sammy would be safe. Safer, at least, than he would be on the run with her, and that was all that mattered.

Vanessa put the car in gear and drove off into the setting sun. It was dark, and the girls were asleep by the time she turned off the highway to the gravel road that led to the cabin.

She hadn’t been there in over eight years, but she’d reviewed the route in her head a hundred thousand times, promising herself that if she ever got a chance to escape, she’d flee to the cabin, the one place she’d never told Jeff about.

Forgotten landmarks leaped into sight like old friends eager to welcome her home as the headlights pierced the night in front of her.

A lump welled up in her throat, but Vanessa swallowed it down. No, she couldn’t get emotional, not yet, no matter how many times she’d comforted herself with the hope she might someday see this place again. There was still far too much she had to do.

The Sequoia rolled to a stop in the parking spot in front of the garage. The fishing cabin was just as she remembered it, if a little spooky in the darkness. It was her cabin, or would be someday if her grandfather was still alive. Grandpa had always promised he’d will it to her and her sister.

With a backward glance to be certain the girls were still sleeping peacefully, Vanessa quietly opened the door and hurried to the rock border of the flower bed near the porch. Would the key still be there? Anything could have happened to it in the years since she’d last tucked it away in its hiding spot.

The dim light from the key-chain flashlight barely illuminated the stones, so Vanessa dropped to her knees, feeling each rock in turn, counting them off until she found the correct one. It didn’t want to budge, the soil having settled thick around it over the years.

Fighting back panic, Vanessa tugged hard on the rock with both hands, the flashlight beam playing crazily across the cabin until she had the stone rolled onto its side. She regained control of the keychain, aiming the meager light into the dirt.

She saw only bare ground.

“No. It has to be here.” She glanced back down the row of rocks, wondering if perhaps she’d chosen the wrong one, but this stone, with its knobby, handgrip-shaped protrusion, was the one. The only one.

She swept her fingers across the dirt, digging lightly, gently.

Something scraped her hand and she stopped, running her index finger along the stiff, buried something, flicking it upward with her fingernail.

The key!

She wiped it clean on her jeans as she rose and bounded up the shallow porch steps to the door. Thankfully, the knob looked familiar, not some new, shiny thing to replace the one that matched the key in her hand. Shaking slightly, it took her a moment to align it with the lock, to slide it inside, wrestle with the knob, hear the click and, finally, with a practiced shove of her hip, pop the door open wide.

Vanessa swiped her hand along the inside of the door frame, found the light switch and flipped it on. Even before her eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness, she saw the man standing across the room at the base of the stairs, facing her from behind the barrel of a gun.