Wade had had only one emergency call some twenty minutes before from Mr. Amos Halley, who’d gotten himself stuck in his garage when the electricity had gone out and the door opener wouldn’t work. Even the manual override was stuck. Wade, pulled from his dinner, had nearly cried, but he’d gone over to the Halley house where Mrs. Halley stood in the entryway, arms crossed over her bosom, shaking her head, and told him, “Leave the old man in there, Wade. If you let him out, he’ll just go drinking down at the tavern.”

Wade had tried his best to get the garage door open, but the sucker hadn’t budged. Then the electricity came back on, and he was a hero, at least to Amos, who claimed he was near to croaking of a heart attack it was so black and airless inside the garage.

As Wade downshifted his jeep, he saw Amos Halley drive off toward the east side of town—that’s where the Long Shot Tavern had been hunkered down since just after World War II.

The rain had lightened up considerably, but winds still buffeted the jeep. There would probably be some flooding, but nothing they couldn’t handle. All in all, it wasn’t bad. He hoped one of the deputies would spot the gray van. He’d told them to call him first.

He made it home in record time and grinned at Glenda.

But something hit him about five minutes later. It was worry, real deep worry, and he didn’t know what to do about it.

7

Katie checked on Sam, then sat down with a cup of coffee after putting some more logs in the fireplace. The fire made the living room warm, shadowy, and cozy. It was as if she’d commanded it to happen. Her cell rang. “Sheriff Benedict here.”

“This is Agent Hodges, Sheriff. I just got a call from Agent Ashburn. The van is a gunmetal gray Dodge, full license is LTD 3109, registered to Mr. Beauregard Jones of Alexandria, Virginia. Is this one of the men?”

“Sam said his name was Beau, so bingo, Agent Hodges, it sounds like you guys nailed it. Excellent.”

“Agent Ashburn said he was heading out to Alexandria himself to check it all out. He’ll let us know what he finds.”

“Good. How close are you to me?”

“We’re only another half-hour, maybe. Unfortunately, Sheriff, we just blew a back tire a few minutes ago. It’ll take us a while to get rolling again.”

She shut down her cell and leaned back. Why had Fatso and Beau stayed in the area? Why would Beau go to the local pharmacy? Were they idiots?

If bandages from the first-aid section of the pharmacy would take care of Fatso, then she hadn’t hurt him very badly. Or maybe it was a bad wound and they were trying anything they could get their hands on.

Where were they holed up? Not at Bleaker’s cabin, the place was nailed down tight, police tape over the windows and a deputy outside. But where had they gone? Just stayed in the van? She raised her head, frowned and listened. She heard the rain, nothing but the rain, and the wind battering tree branches against the house.

She got up, checked on Sam and Keely. They were both still sound asleep. She lightly touched her palm to Sam’s forehead. No fever.

She stood there, looking down at the boy, thinking there was nothing else to do until everyone arrived. Then her breath caught. She knew why the men were still in town, and it wasn’t because Fatso was too badly hurt to be moved. No, they still were after Sam. Was there that much money involved?

She pulled her SIG Sauer out of its holster on the top shelf of her closet, shoved it in the back of her blue jeans, and pulled a loose sweatshirt over it. Then she checked her ankle holster, where her two-shot derringer was held tight. If anything happened, she was ready.

All right, you bastards, come to Mama.

Her heart raced. She could feel her skin, smell the oak trees as the winds whipped through them, even hear the soft crackle of a single ember in the fireplace.

She pulled out her cell to call over some deputies as she walked to the living room window, everything inside her alert and ready, and pulled back the drapes. She very nearly fell over. A man’s face was staring in at her. He looked as surprised as she was, but his gloved fist slammed through the window, and in that hand was a gun, pointed right at her chest.

“Don’t even think about moving, lady.”

She dropped her cell phone. Could she get to her gun before he killed her? No, probably not. “You’re Beauregard Jones, I take it?”

“Shit! How do you know who I am?”

“Law enforcement is pretty good nowadays, Mr. Jones. Just about everybody in Jessborough knows who you are. The FBI is already at your place in Alexandria and more agents will be here in about three minutes.” She looked behind Beau. “Where’s Fatso?”