Countdown (11 page)

Cynthia's crying made it hard to decipher everything the man said. James's gut twisted, remembering when a policeman had knocked on his own door.

“What happened?” she cried. “Is he gonna—”

“It was a hit-and-run. There's a lot of internal bleeding. He's in surgery now. They're doing their best, Cynthia.”

“Have they...have they found who did it?”

Judging by the way Cynthia cried, the answer was no. James knew the feeling. He still didn't know who had plowed their vehicle into Nikki's.

Rachel grabbed James's elbow. She looked in shock. James didn't know what to say. He was reeling himself.

“I'm here to take you to the hospital,” the man said.

Cynthia stepped backward, wrapping her arms around herself, tears rushing down her cheeks. “Of course. Give me a bit to get myself together, okay?”

“I'll be waiting in my car.”

“Thank you.” Cynthia closed the door.

James crossed the room in half a second. Cynthia grabbed both of his forearms, squeezing them as her head dropped and she took deep breaths. “I'm so sorry,” he said, the words barely making it past his choked throat.

She sniffed and straightened. “Derrick would want us to keep our heads on straight. Right?” She tightened her grip on him but looked at the ceiling. “There's no way that was an accident, was it?”

James didn't know what to say. The timing did make it look suspicious, but he also knew from experience that tragedy like this happened.

Cynthia didn't mind his silence. “If they got Derrick, it's not safe here. The moment I leave with Derrick's man, they might come in here. Get those boys somewhere safe, away from here, away from whoever hurt my Derrick. Okay? You keep those boys safe, James.”

He knew by the tone of her voice that she was trying to be encouraging, but it didn't take away the helplessness gnawing at his chest. Where would they go?

Cynthia dropped one hand to her stomach. “He
has
to get better.”

James turned to Rachel. “Gather your things.”

“But what about the man watching the house?”

“I think I have a way to take care of that,” Cynthia answered. “At least, I'm going to try.”

James didn't comment as he made his way to wake up the boys. His mind stayed on Derrick, in surgery right now.
Please let him make it, Lord.
His heart couldn't take any more sorrow.

ELEVEN

R
achel's hands shook. The space inside her ribs felt hollow, the same horrible feeling she got whenever she was sleep-deprived.

Cynthia stepped out of her bedroom, her face freshly washed but without a trace of makeup. She wore a maroon maternity blouse, jeans and loafers with a black leather bag in her right hand.

“You packed fast.”

“It's my hospital to-go bag. I didn't think I'd need to go to the hospital for this, though.” Her voice cracked. Without thinking, Rachel opened her arms, and Cynthia clung to her.

A movement to the side caused them to stand straight. The boys stood in matching blue shirts and blue pants. Their eyelids hung low, but they wore small smiles. “Go to the potty, then we go,” James said, bringing up the rear with their backpacks.

Cynthia stepped into the living room and jotted something on a piece of paper. “Get a burner phone. Go somewhere remote then call me.” She handed him the note. “If I see a strange number on my phone and know something new, I'll pick up. If I don't, I'll let it ring. Don't leave a message.”

“Understood.”

Cynthia walked past the dining area and opened a door Rachel presumed led to the garage. A moment later the garage door motor hummed. Car doors opened and shut.

James mirrored Rachel's confused expression. “What do you think is happening out there?” she asked.

James strode to the door and looked out the peephole. “Cynthia got out the van, and the agent rushed up to meet her. She's waving her hands, upset about something. Oh. Get back. She's coming this way.”

They both hustled into the hallway lest someone see them from the outside.

Cynthia stepped into the living room and shut the door behind her. “I was going to point out the man watching the house, but he's gone. I imagine he left when the agent showed up to get me. I started thinking about what Derrick would do, and it gave me an idea.” She crossed over to the basket next to the refrigerator and picked up a set of keys. “I want you to take the spare. You're going to take my keys, use my minivan—it's all decked out with a full tank of gas.”

“We can't take your van,” Rachel said from behind them. “You won't have a way to get back.”

Cynthia looked around James. “I'll have my sister meet me at the hospital. She lives in town. I won't want to stay here until Derrick is better, anyway. Besides, I had the car all set up for car seats. Detach the top halves and it works as booster seats for the boys.”

James pointed over her shoulder. “What'd you tell the agent?”

“I said I was in no condition to drive. Instead of following me, I asked him to take me instead.”

“Isn't he going to be curious why you came back inside?” Rachel asked.

“I told him I had to use the bathroom again.” Cynthia rubbed her stomach, which looked larger than the night before to Rachel. “Stay safe.” She stepped back outside.

“Where are we going to go?” Rachel asked.

“I think I should get you and the boys as far away from here as possible and wait until the launch is over.”

“When will that be?”

“If someone is able to fix my virus? Sunday.”

“But you said that'd be impossible.”

“No, I don't have super powers.” He shrugged. “It'd just be extremely hard.”

“And wouldn't that mean they would get away with launching an EMT?”

His mouth moved into a smirk. “You mean EMP, electromagnetic pulse.”

“Yeah, that.”

“I'll alert the air force or someone will get involved to shoot it down before it detonates. If it launches, then they will have no need to go after my boys. Granted, that would mean I'll need to trust someone other than Derrick, but at least you and the boys will, theoretically, be out of danger by then.”

The somberness of the situation settled on her shoulders. “You want to leave right away.”

“The sun is going to rise in an hour or two. I think it's the best solution.”

“I'll grab my pack.” She headed back into the nursery. A thin light from headlights slipped through the space between the light-blocking shade and the wall and then abruptly turned off. Odd.

She stepped to the side of the window and pressed her back against the wall. She held her breath and lifted the shade with her index finger. To the east of the house a car parked, with his lights off. Their “friend” had returned.

“Come on, boys, let's head for the door.”

She wanted to holler but instead ran for the hallway. “No, wait.” James turned around. The boys already had their backpacks on. She didn't want to frighten them. “I, uh, saw a thing outside. And I'd like to eat breakfast here,” she adlibbed. “I think there are more bananas in the kitchen.”

Ethan stood on his tiptoes, trying to peek into the kitchen.

James frowned. “Great,” he muttered. “I thought we'd have at least five minutes to leave.” He spun around in a circle, searching the walls. “And we're completely without a phone. Sometimes I miss the days everyone had house phones.”

Rachel racked her brain for ideas of what to do. If they left now, they'd be spotted, but if they sat in the house much longer, with Cynthia gone, they would likely come inside to check things out.

A small light bobbed through the slits on the right side of the kitchen window, the only window without light-blocking shades. She leaned forward and peeked, confident the car on the opposite side of the house wouldn't be able to see her since the window faced the backyard. A jogger with a headlamp ran through the path, past the house.

Rachel gasped. “I have an idea.” She ran around the counter, depositing her purse on top. “Watch this for me, James.” She unlocked the back door.

“Where are you going?”

“No time. Trust me.”

She slipped out the glass door and ran through the short backyard. She left the fence ajar slightly and sprinted down the path. In her hoodie, T-shirt and sweatpants, she hoped she looked like a jogger, but the canvas shoes didn't really fit the profile. In the dark, maybe it wouldn't be noticeable. The cool air chilled her skin.

The jogger slowed to a stop at a bench at the far end of the community area. She pulled her foot backward to stretch her quadriceps but looked at Rachel in alarm. “Excuse me,” Rachel called, hoping she didn't scare her away.

The jogger pulled out an ear bud, looking at her suspiciously. She wore reflective running gear and gloves.

“Nice to meet a fellow early morning runner,” Rachel said. The jogger nodded slowly but didn't say a word as she switched legs to stretch. “I'm hoping you can do me a favor. I don't have my phone with me, but there's a strange guy in a sedan who has been sitting at the corner watching everyone.”

The jogger raised her eyebrows and pointed in the direction of Cynthia's house. “That corner? I live just down the street.”

“Yeah, did you notice him there yesterday, too, watching? I mean, one day you think it might be coincidence but two...”

The jogger fumbled with her shirt, which looked to have a zipper along the waist. She pulled out her phone. “I'm calling the police.”

Rachel tried not to smile. “Thank you. I hope the rest of your run is good. Stay safe.”

The jogger nodded, but she was already talking to the dispatcher as she jogged off.

Rachel turned to run back to Cynthia's house, satisfied the police would come and chase away the guy staking the house out, at least for a little bit. A dark figure stepped out of the shadows and grabbed her arm.

“I thought that was you,” the voice growled.

Rachel screamed, hoping the jogger would get her some help. Instead the man twisted Rachel's left arm behind her back until she was in such pain she could barely breathe.

“Not smart.” The man's hot breath brushed past her neck.

Rachel knew that voice. The same voice that almost found them in the woods. “Where's your friend?” Rachel asked.

“Oh, don't you worry about that.” He chuckled. “He never thought you'd be stupid enough to come here, but I didn't have that much faith in you. Looks like I'm right.” He pressed down on her arm again, forcing her to bend over.

One hand left her back but her attacker's other hand still had a firm, painful grip on her left arm. She heard shuffling and then he spoke, probably into a phone. “Yeah, I got the girl. I'm thinking they're in the house. Yeah, tell him for me. I've got my hands full.”

James and the boys...they weren't safe. Once again her foolish attempt to help ended in putting them into jeopardy even more. She dropped her head, and her gaze fell on the darkened outline of a thick branch. She lifted her torso slightly, panting against the pain.

Rachel stomped her right foot onto the stick. The opposite end flung up. She grabbed it with her right hand and swung it diagonally across her body and around the back of her head.

The man groaned at the same time his grip loosened on her arm. She twisted into his hold, pulled back her fist and slammed it into his chest. The moment her knuckles made contact, she knew James had been right about technique. The man jerked back, but Rachel didn't wait for his next move.

She sprinted toward Cynthia's house. She had to warn them. She had to get them out.

Crack!

Rachel stumbled. A searing, sharp pain moved through her left shoulder. She cried out and pulled her arm close to her torso. Another gunshot rang through the open air but either Rachel was in too much shock to feel it or the second one didn't make contact. She pressed forward, slammed the fence open and stumbled toward the glass door.

* * *

The past five minutes seemed to last an hour. He'd found some cereal in the pantry so the boys were still occupied as he stared out into the dark backyard. Where was she?

His gut still churned from the horror of finding out Derrick had been hurt. The possibility of Derrick's children having to grow up without having known him was too horrible to ponder. And he couldn't think about Cynthia because he knew how it felt raising two children without the other parent. He'd never wish it on anyone, even if it meant they'd be able to understand the constant battle of trying to make up for the missing parent, trying to be perfect to the point of exhaustion.

A shadow moved. He could barely make out the back fence moving. He saw the telltale sway of long hair in a ponytail and knew it had to be Rachel. James opened the glass door. His hand shook as he flipped the latch to lock it behind her. “What'd you just do? If you were gone another minute, I was coming after you.”

She shivered and her right hand pressed into the outside of her left. “Later. Leave. Leave now.” Her face tight with pain, she whispered, “They're coming.”

“Okay I'll grab the packs and—”

She was shaking her head violently.

“Are you okay?”

“No time.”

The tone of her voice left no room for argument. Wordlessly, he grabbed the boys and barreled to the front door. They whimpered, but the early morning exhaustion kept their cries from growing into tantrums.

He looked over his shoulder to see Rachel, her hand bright red, reaching for her purse as she made her way toward him. “Rachel?

Her face paled as she waved her right hand to keep moving. What had happened? The confusion and desperation of the moment made it hard to concentrate without answers. His pulse pounded in his neck and fingertips.

He inhaled and flung the front door open. A police officer approached the driver of the sedan. The cruiser was parked behind him. Approaching sirens could be heard. The officer reached over to hit the radio on his shoulder. Whatever was going on, James's gut told him to move fast.

Rachel slipped into the passenger side of the minivan in a heartbeat. James deposited the boys in the side door. He ripped off the backs of the car seats like Cynthia had described and flung them into the far back. “I need you to show me how you buckle yourselves, boys.” He hopped in the driver's side and backed out of the driveway in three seconds flat.

“I did it, Daddy,” Ethan called. “I didn't need Caleb's help this time. I did it by self.”

“Good job, buddy,” James replied. He kept his eyes on the mirrors. It was still dark enough for headlights, but he debated turning them off. In the end, without proof of ownership, he decided to be a law-abiding citizen. “Wanna tell me what happened out there? More specifically, what happened to your shoulder? Are you even okay?”

Rachel nodded and tilted her head to the boys. “Guys. See the headphones in those pockets? If you put them on you can hear the music.” She jutted her chin to the radio. “Look. Press that button and they can listen to something while we talk.”

He didn't exactly have time to browse the radio stations. So far the cop and the sedan hadn't pursued him, but without knowing what had happened to Rachel, he had no idea what to expect. He pressed one of the presets, confident Cynthia wouldn't have chosen anything inappropriate. The boys didn't seem to mind, whatever it was.

Rachel licked her lips. “I asked a fellow morning runner to get the police to check out the corner. That way our
friend
would still have no idea we were ever here. And at first it worked. That's why the officer was keeping him busy. Except, the other sirens you hear...they're coming because one of the men following us, he—he grabbed me. Said that someone else was on his way to get you. I got away but not before he shot me.”

His muscles jolted as if shocked. “He what?” It was all James could do to keep both hands on the steering wheel. “We have to take you to the hospital now.”

“No,” she cried. “Get us out of town. Please. I...I think it's just a graze, anyway.”

Two police cars zoomed past them, sirens wailing, headed the opposite way. An ambulance brought up the tail. It was tempting to turn the van around and follow them.