Home of the Brave (Raine Stockton Dog Mysteries Book 9) (24 page)

Buck repeated tightly, “We don’t know.”

Miles said, “I have resources.  I might be able to get things done quicker than you can.  If you—”

“Look, Young,” Buck interrupted shortly, “you shouldn’t be here.  I know you’re worried, but the best way you can help is by staying out of the way. I may have already lost a deputy up there and you can be damn sure I’m not going to lose Raine too.  So go on home.  She’s my wife, not yours.”

Around him radios continued to crackle and engines idled, voices buzzed and feet ran.  But all Buck heard was the echo of his own words.  And all he saw was the way the back of Wyn’s shoulders stiffened just before she walked away.

Miles Young said coldly, “My
daughter
is in there.”

With a shaft of pain that was almost visible, Buck tore his gaze away from Wyn’s retreating figure, but not before he saw her slip something off her finger and drop it into her pocket.  He looked back at Miles, whose face was filled with a mixture of fury and contempt.  Buck said stiffly, “I’m sorry.  I didn’t know about your daughter.  But you can’t be here.”

He turned back to the map as one of the agents said, “Mr. Young, maybe you can answer some questions for us.  Do you mind walking back to my car with me so we can talk?”

And it was just about then that the skies opened up and the deluge came.

The rain roared on the metal roof of the building, drowning out the barking of the dogs.  I rested my cheek on my updrawn knees and tried not to cry.  The rain would have destroyed the scent.  Cisco had no chance of finding Gene Hicks again.  And even if he could somehow do it, what made me think Hicks was still there?  And even if he was, that he would see the message, or understand it, or want to help us if he could?  He was homeless.  He didn’t even have a phone.  It had been a stupid idea.

There might be guards around the lake.  One of them might have seen Cisco running loose and shot him, or caught him and locked him up.  At best, Cisco was wandering through the storm, lost and alone.  At worst, I would never see him again.  Ever.

I felt a punch on my shoulder.  I looked up.

Jolene looked parched and feverish, and her eyes were bright.  She said hoarsely, “Hey.  You had to try.”

I nodded, but it was scant comfort. 

The rain pounded.  Neither of us said anything for a long time.

I glanced over at her.  “My first dog,” I said, with difficulty, “I mean my first working dog—she was amazing.  Her name was Cassidy.  She taught me everything I know about dogs, about search and rescue, about life, really.  I can’t tell you how many saves we made together.  We were so in sync I didn’t even have to tell her what to do, she just did it.  Working with her was like poetry.  Like dancing.  We were inseparable for almost fourteen years.  When people would call me a dog lover, I would always say, No. I love
a
dog.  I always thought there would never be another dog like her.  And I was right.”

To my surprise, Jolene actually glanced at me.  Until then I wasn’t sure she was listening, or even interested.

“When she died it was like she took a piece of me with her.  In a way she did.  She took a piece of my life—all those years we’d lived through together, the things we’d accomplished, the memories we made.  Gone.  And the scar she left on my heart was so hard and so thick that for the longest time there was no way for another dog to get in.  I didn’t
want
another dog to get in, because it’s a lot harder to open up your heart than to keep it closed, if you know what I mean, and I just couldn’t.  I didn’t have that kind of courage.  Even when I got Cisco, it wasn’t the same.  I could never love another dog like I loved Cassidy.  But after a while … I don’t know.  He wasn’t Cassidy, and I didn’t love him the same, but that was okay.  It was good, even.  In some ways what I have with Cisco is better than it was with Cassidy, and I never thought that would happen.  But I think maybe that’s the whole point with dogs.  They keep giving us chances, you know—to be better, to grow bigger, to love more.  But we have to give them a chance first.”

Jolene said nothing.  I hadn’t expected her to.  I rested my head on my knees again and listened to the rain. 

After a long time Jolene spoke.  “I think your dog’s okay,” she said.  “We would’ve heard a shot if he wasn’t.”

Scant comfort, maybe.  But at least she made the effort.

And then she frowned.  “There’s something strange about this whole setup.”

I could barely hear her over the rain and thought I had misunderstood.  “What?”

She said, “It’s been over four hours.  Nothing is happening.  They’re not making any demands.  They’re not trying to scare us with their power. They’re not threatening us or mistreating us.  They’re not even preparing for a siege.  They’re just … keeping us here.  Like they’re waiting for something.”

I found that thought more frightening than any other possibility I’d considered.  “Waiting for what?”

She winced in pain as she shook her head.  “I don’t know.”  She blew out a breath and leaned her head back against the wall again, closing her eyes.  “I can’t think.  But whatever it is, it’d better be soon.”  She opened her eyes briefly.  “So far it’s been a peaceful takeover.  But that won’t last.  It never does.  So … it’d better be soon.”

The brief downpour gave cover for the advance team, but it also slowed them down considerably.  By the landmarks described in the last radio check-in, they were still twenty minutes away from visual contact. 

That was too long.

“We need to call in the helicopters,” Buck said tensely.  “At least we can get pictures.  You can drop a SWAT team in.”

Manahan ignored him. 

Buck strode back to his car and pulled on his flak vest.  The rain had left the day dark and steamy, with a ground fog wisping through the woods on either side of the road and leaves dripping in an early twilight.  The weather wasn’t over, and the going wouldn’t get any easier.  He slammed the car door, opened the trunk, took out his rifle. He started back toward the blockade.

Manahan said, “Sheriff, you are not authorized for this.”

Buck said, “This is my county.  The safety of every soul in it is my responsibility.  That makes me authorized.”

Behind him, Buck heard other car doors slam.  One by one his deputies came to stand behind him.  Out of the corner of his eye, Buck noted that Wyn was one of them.

The patient expression Manahan tried to adapt did not disguise the steel in his eyes.  He said, “Sheriff, I appreciate the help you’ve given us so far, but know that I will do whatever I have to to make sure the lives of those children are not endangered by a hothead with a hero complex.  We have choppers standing by.  When I call for them they’ll be here in five minutes.  Until then, we follow procedure.”

Buck said angrily, “What makes you think that by the time you get finished following procedure there’ll be anybody left alive to endanger?  You know as well as I do that if this was a hostage situation they would’ve tried to make contact by now!  The chances are—”

But then he saw Miles Young, who had been leaning against a car a few feet away, straighten up.  He saw the look on his face.  And he said nothing more.

Manahan repeated, “We follow procedure.”  He turned away.

Buck started to move forward but Miles Young said in an odd, still tone, “Sheriff.”  Buck realized that the other man was no longer looking at him, but peering fixedly at a space over his left shoulder.  Buck heard the sound of movement in the brush behind him and he spun around, rifle at the ready.

“Halt!  Police!” he shouted.  “Identify yourself!”

A dozen weapons were pulled and aimed; a dozen officers and agents swung into position as the clear form of a man appeared from the wet shadows of the woods.  “Don’t shoot!” he called.  “I’m unarmed.”

And that was when a golden retriever appeared in the mist beside him, tongue lolling, tail wagging, and trotted affably toward them.

Chapter
Twenty-Five

“I
’m not a part of this!”  Buck had Reggie Connor on his face in the road, roughly cuffing his hands behind his back.  “I’m turning myself in, but I want immunity, I’m telling you!  I’m not a part of this!”

Buck jerked Reggie to his feet, sweating and breathing hard.  “What are you not a part of, you stupid son of a bitch?  Where are they?  What have they done to the kids?”

Reggie was soaked and muddy and looked terrified enough to be telling the truth.  “I don’t know!  They burned up my dad’s car!  They told me they were going to borrow it and then they burned the damn thing up!  I don’t need no part of this.  I didn’t sign up for this!”

“The camp!” Manahan spoke sharply.  “What do you know about the camp?”

“Nothing, that’s what I’m telling you.  I didn’t know what they were planning.  It was the dog.  It wasn’t until the dog that I figured it out.  And that’s when I knew I couldn’t have no part in this!  I’m turning myself in, but I want a lawyer!”

Miles Young was kneeling on the ground, one arm around a wet and bedraggled Cisco, who looked less relaxed to be here than he had a moment ago.  Buck swung his head toward Cisco.  “What about the dog?” he demanded.

“It’s his collar,” Reggie said.  “There’s writing on it.”

Before Buck could make the two strides to Cisco, Miles had pulled off his collar and read the message there.  His face sagged with relief as he handed the collar to Buck.  “They’re alive,” he said.

In less than five minutes, the plan was in action.  The SWAT team was mobilized to access the building by foot; a phalanx of men was organized to surround the camp on the lake road.  “This is a silent approach,” Manahan ordered.  “You will reconnoiter with the advance team and make no aggressive moves until our intelligence is confirmed.  It’s reasonable to expect the approach may be mined.  These people have already shown they have access to sophisticated munitions.  It is imperative that you maintain cover.  Sheriff, stand by to—“

Suddenly the air was rent by the screech of a police siren.  The blast lasted barely more than a second but it seemed to go on half a lifetime and it was loud enough to be heard two states away.  When Buck whipped around, eyes searching the controlled chaos that surrounded him, he saw Lyle Reston, looking stricken and horrified, with one arm inside his squad car.  He straightened up slowly and into the frozen silence stammered, “Sheriff, I’m sorry.  I…I was reaching for my radio and I accidently …”

Buck just stared at him.

“That’s it,” Manahan said grimly.  “They know where we are now.”  Then, loudly, “Move in, men, full assault mode!  Backup teams, stand ready!”

Buck walked to Reston, who looked increasingly uncomfortable.  “Sheriff,” he said, “it was an accident.”

Buck demanded quietly, “What were you doing on this side of the county this morning?  You were supposed to be patrolling in town.”

A quick shift of his gaze.  “You’re right.  But I had a tip on Connor’s whereabouts and I decided to follow up.  It paid off, too, didn’t it?”

“Oh yeah?” Buck walked around the unit and opened the trunk.  “What kind of tip?”

His answer wasn’t quite fast enough.  “One of the neighbors.  He called about the car.”

Buck came around the car, a handkerchief wrapped around the hand grip of a .44 Magnum.  He said, “When we find the bullet that killed Willie Banks, will ballistics match it to this gun?”

Lyle went very still.

“One day we’re going to have a long talk about this,” Buck said.  “But right now I don’t care why, or how, or what went wrong.  What I care about is twenty-five kids and how you’re going to help us get them back to their mamas and daddies.  Hand over your service weapon.”

There was an instant when panic shot through Lyle’s eyes and he looked as though he might do something foolish.  The pressure of steel in his ribs stopped him.  Wyn said, “Do it.”

She had always had Buck’s back.

But even as he was disarmed and cuffed, even as his fellow officers stared at him in confusion and contempt, all Lyle returned was a pitying look.  “It doesn’t matter,” he said.  “It’s over.  You’re too late.”

I was starving.  It was past the dogs’ dinnertime, and the children’s too.  The kids were cranky.  Some of them started crying again, and begging to call their moms and dads.  When Margie stood up to go comfort them, a soldier swung his gun at her.  Some of the dogs—particularly the spoiled ones like Pepper and Mischief—sat and barked sharply, demanding their dinner.  Others chewed or pawed at the bars of their cages.

Steve muttered, “We have to do something.  We can’t just sit here.”

“Who does this?” whispered Kathy, the nurse.  “Who takes a camp full of children and dogs hostage?  It’s crazy!”

“No one is coming for us,” said Counselor Bill.  “No one knows we’re here.”

“They know.”  Jolene’s voice was firm, although the effort it cost her to speak was visible.  Her lips were cracked and her skin was pinched, and the gauze bandage around her hand was stained with blood.  She was dehydrated and clearly in pain.  “Procedure is to wait for rescue.  Do nothing to provoke the aggressors.”