God, he hated little kids. Maybe it was a blessing that he’d been in prison while Dale was growing out of this disgusting phase.
“Answer me, damn it!”
The girl looked at the floor and hunched her shoulders as if trying to make herself look smaller.
Wyatt slapped her face, just hard enough to get her attention.
She gasped and covered her face with her hands.
“Who did you call? The police?” When she didn’t answer again, he raised his hand. “Don’t make me hit you again,” he told her.
“Isabelle.”
Wyatt smiled. “Good girl. I was going to call her anyway.”
Then he heard the sirens and realized that Isabelle had probably called the police. He hadn’t had the chance to warn her not to.
Fuck!
Wyatt dragged the girl out of the room, picking up the phone on his way. He needed to get out before the police came.
She tripped on the stairs and would have fallen down if he hadn’t been holding on to her. He picked her up with one arm and tossed her over his shoulder.
By the time he’d gotten downstairs, he could already see the glow of flashing lights winking through the blinds.
A frustrated roar burst out of him, making the windows shake. This was not supposed to happen. It was supposed to be a clean trade. He’d get his son and get out of the country without the police being the wiser. But no, the soft little girl who couldn’t stop crying long enough to wipe her nose had ruined everything.
Wyatt tossed her on the floor, next to her mother’s bleeding body. “See what happens when you try to fuck up my plans?” he asked her.
She was sobbing, holding the arm she’d landed on close to her body. “Momma?”
“Momma didn’t listen to me,” said Wyatt. “The same thing will happen to you, too, if you don’t listen.”
The girl shook her mom’s shoulder, but the woman didn’t move. Blood oozed out of a hole in her chest, but apparently, the girl hadn’t figured out what that meant. “Momma, wake up. Please, Momma.”
Police cars started flooding the street out front. There was no way Wyatt was going to get out of here without being caught. His plans had to change.
At least he had a hostage.
Grant made the fifteen-minute drive to Amanda’s in less than half that. Isabelle’s stomach rebelled at the sudden turns and dangerous speed even as she admired the skill it took to get them there safely.
Amanda’s street was blocked off by police cars, and they couldn’t get closer than a hundred yards. They got out and headed down the cracked sidewalk.
Light flashed everywhere, and neighbors poked their heads out to see what was going on. Some of the police had their weapons drawn and all of them kept careful watch on the house. In the deep shadows behind the run-down home, Isabelle thought she saw movement.
“There’s someone back there,” she told Grant.
He took her arm to steady her over the broken concrete, which was good, because her legs still weren’t working like they were supposed to.
“It’s SWAT,” he said.
“How can you tell?”
“They’re moving in standard two-by-two formation.”
An officer in uniform stopped them in front of Amanda’s neighbor’s house. “You can’t come any closer.”
“Is Detective Mathews here?” asked Grant.
More than a hint of sarcasm tinted the young man’s tone. “Yeah, but he’s a little busy.”
“I’m the one who called it in. Where is he?”
The officer hesitated for a moment as if deciding whether or not to cooperate, then pointed to a clump of men near one of the patrol cars.
Grant told the policeman, “I’m going to him.”
“I can’t let you do that. The man inside is armed.”
“I know. I heard him fire a round when the little girl in there was talking to me on the phone. I’m not trying to interfere, we just want to know what’s going on. These people are friends.”
“Can you please find out if they’re okay?” She didn’t realize until Grant petted her hand that she was squeezing his arm hard enough to leave bruises. She relaxed her grip and took a deep breath. She had to stay calm so she’d be able to help if they needed her.
The officer gave him a brief nod. “Stay here. I’ll go get him.”
Isabelle’s phone rang. It was Amanda’s number. A jolt of panic shot through her, and she nearly dropped the phone before she could push the talk button. “Rachel?”
Grant leaned close to the phone, and she angled it so he could hear, too.
“No,” came Wyatt’s angry voice. “But she’s right here. If you want her back, then get these fucking cops out of here.”
“Not going to happen,” said Grant. “You might as well give up now. It beats being taken out in a body bag.”
“Do they make those in kids’ size?” asked Wyatt. “ ’Cause that’s what they’re gonna need for the little girl here if they don’t back off. I already took out her mom. Don’t think for a second I won’t do the same to her if I have to.”
In the background, Isabelle heard Rachel’s pitiful whimper of terror. She was still alive. They weren’t too late.
Isabelle nearly crumpled with relief.
“Let me talk to Rachel. Please,” she begged. “She’s just a little girl.”
“You want her. I want Dale. The only way you’re getting her is if Dale agrees to come with me.”