Into the Whirlwind (14 page)

Dirk holstered his weapon. “Two men inside,” he said. “No sign of the kid or the girl. They're still alive, though. They're planning to kill them once they get the money, dump the bodies in the lake.”

“Motherfuckers.”

“Yeah.”

“Charlie and the girl are in the bedroom,” Luke said. “Her blouse is torn and she's got a black eye, but otherwise she looks okay. She's curled up on the bed. Little boy's curled up against her.”

Dirk's chest tightened. “I'll phone Sadie, give her our location, tell her to call the cops in what? Twenty minutes?”

“Sounds about right. Cops get here too soon, this turns into a hostage situation.”

“Or a shoot-out,” Dirk said grimly. “We need to get them out of there.”

Luke grinned. “Two against two? Piece of cake.”

Chapter Sixteen

Meg sat in the Bronco, her fingers curled into the backseat, eyes trained on the empty dirt road stretching in front of her. She itched to get out of the car, follow Dirk and Luke to the house by the lake, find her son and bring him home.

She wouldn't, of course. She wouldn't do anything that might cause the men trouble. She had promised not to get in their way.

Straining for any sound of their return, she heard nothing but the rush of the wind through the trees, the rustle of leafless branches. A storm was moving in, a drizzle beginning to fall.

If she'd had the windows rolled down, she might have heard the approaching footsteps. Instead, she jerked at the light
tap-tap
against the window glass beside her, and turned to see the barrel of a pistol pointing directly at her head.

Adrenaline surged through her and yet she felt frozen in the seat.

“Reach for the pistol and you're dead,” the man said. Well-dressed in a pair of dark slacks and expensive Italian leather dress shoes—Prada, she figured, if she knew her designers, which she did. He was medium height, late thirties or early forties, athletic build. Though his dark hair was slightly receding, he was still an attractive man. “Open the door.”

Meg swallowed, fighting for calm, knowing how important it was to make the right moves. She flicked a glance at the gun on the seat and saw a second man on the other side of the Bronco, his pistol pointed at her from the opposite direction. He was bigger, muscular. She couldn't see his face.

“The door,” the first man said. “Open it now.”

Her heart beat wildly. Dear God, what about Charlie? What about Dirk and Luke? She should have listened, shouldn't have come. She had put them all in danger.

She cracked open the door, her mind spinning with ways to alert the men, her hiking boots sinking into the mud as she stepped out of Luke's battered SUV. “Who are you?”

The man in the designer shoes gave her a polite, hard-edged smile. “You may call me Thomas. It isn't my name, but it will do for now. And you're Megan. Little Charlie's mother.”

Her stomach roiled with nausea. She clamped down on a shot of fear. “What have you done with my son?”

“Why don't I take you to him? I assume your detective friends are somewhere about. Quite clever, they are, finding us here. I don't think they'll be pleased to see you, however.” He nudged her with the barrel of his gun, urging her to walk back down the road the way Luke had driven in.

Around the first bend, a silver Honda Accord sat off to one side, a Hertz rental plate frame on the front. The men were from out of town. The one who called himself Thomas spoke well, seemed intelligent, and dressed well. Probably the man behind the kidnapping. She wondered how he'd come up with the scheme.

Thomas opened the rear passenger door and motioned for her to slide onto the seat, then slid in beside her, his gun pressing into her ribs. The other man climbed in behind the wheel of the Accord, filling the seat completely.

As he started the engine, Meg took a deep breath and fought for control, desperate to think of a way to warn Dirk. At the moment all she could think to do was get them to shoot her and hope Dirk heard the sound—not the greatest plan.

A shiver slid through her. She might not have any other choice.

* * *

“We've got surprise on our side,” Dirk said, his attention fixed on the house.

“Smash and grab?” Luke asked.

“Affirmative. You want the front or the back?”

Luke's expression hardened. “You take the back, bring out the kid and the girl. I'll go in the front.”

“You sure?”

Luke's features turned to granite. “Oh, yeah, I'm sure.”

At the steely glint in Luke's blue eyes, Dirk wondered if his friend might cut off the kidnappers' balls for real this time.

“Give me two minutes to get in place,” Luke said.

Dirk looked down at his watch, started to give a nod, then heard the sound of tires churning up the road. “Someone's coming.”

Luke's gaze shot down the lane. Dirk's pistol was already in hand, his grip on the big semiauto reassuring. Luke palmed his weapon, they split up, and slid quietly off into the woods surrounding the clearing.

Standing in the shadows out of sight behind the thick trunk of a tree, Dirk watched a silver Honda Accord roll toward the house. Rental car. Three people inside.

His stomach cramped at the sight of Meg sitting next to a man in the backseat of the car. The guy lifted his hand, showing off the gun he pressed solidly against her head.

Jesus God, Meg
. He shouldn't have caved to her wishes, should have left her home. Should have tied her up if he'd had to.

The car pulled up and stopped next to the other two. The engine fell silent and the doors cracked open. A man wearing black slacks and a button-down sport shirt, oddly stylish attire for a kidnapper, hauled Meg out of the vehicle and positioned her in front of him. He was clean-shaven with a receding hairline, his dark hair perfectly groomed. Most likely the brains of the operation.

The man in charge pressed his big semiauto firmly against Meg's temple. “Mr. Reynolds, I know you're out there, you and your friend, Mr. Brodie. As you can see, the situation has changed, and not in your favor.”

Dirk silently cursed. Not only had they spotted the Bronco, the bugs the men had planted in Meg's house had given them their names. Two minutes on Google and the bastards knew all about them, knew they were PIs, knew they were former military, which meant they knew he and Luke were armed.

“I need you to come out from wherever you are,” the man said mildly. “If you don't, I shall pull the trigger on my weapon, firing a bullet into Ms. O'Brien's very lovely head.”

“Don't do it, Dirk!” Meg shouted. “They'll kill you!”

They'd try. That was for sure.

He heard running footsteps. The men from inside had heard the commotion and rushed out to join the fray. They rounded the corner, weapons drawn, and raced toward their friends.

Dirk settled a little lower in the bushes. “Looks like we're having a party,” he whispered into his mic.

“The more, the merrier,” Luke replied.

They both held positions that gave them clear shots at the men. There were four of them now, with plenty of firepower, and Meg in the middle.

Things couldn't get any worse.

Scratch that. Pam had just run out of the house, carrying Meg's little red-haired boy.

“Charlie!” Meg shouted. Dirk could hardly believe his eyes when Meg jerked out of her captor's arms and started running. Dirk started firing.

Thank you, Jesus, there is a God.
Dirk laid down a line of cover, bullets flying, scattering the men, keeping their attention off Meg. He hit curly-haired Cliff in the chest, taking him down and out. Luke double-tapped the short, balding guy, and he went down flat on his back, blood oozing out of a wound in his chest.

Meg kept running, moving in a zigzag pattern she must have seen on some cop show on TV, dodging bullets, and amazing him yet again.

She scooped Charlie out of Pam's arms, swung a punch that knocked the babysitter flat on her ass, and started running again, ducking out of sight around the corner of the house.

Dirk concentrated on the firefight going on in front of him, pulled off a couple of rounds but couldn't wipe the grin off his face.

The two men in the Accord had taken cover behind the car; one of them was as big as a house and, the way he was firing, clearly had some military training.

Dirk spotted Luke moving around behind them and laid down a stream of bullets, keeping the men pinned down. Slugs pinged around him, sending wood chips into the air beside his head. They were zeroing in on his location. He had to move.

Luke blasted away, drawing their fire, but the men stayed low and out of sight, pinned behind the car. From a fresh position, Dirk squeezed off a couple of shots. So did Luke. Luke was moving again, silently making his way through the heavy grass and foliage, closing in on the men from behind.

Return fire came from the other side of the Accord, but only from a single pistol. Each shot was placed with precision. The big guy, he thought, and unease filtered through him. Where was the second man? And where were Meg and Charlie?

From the corner of his eye, he saw them coming out from around the house, Meg with her hands bound behind her, the guy in charge holding little Charlie, the gun pointed straight at his head. The little boy reached out to his mother as the kidnapper ran toward the dock with the boy in his arms.

Dirk stayed hidden but moved toward them through the foliage, watching as the man jumped into one of the aluminum fishing boats. Meg jumped in behind him. The kidnapper pulled the starter rope on the outboard engine; it caught and a plume of smoke fluttered into the air.

Dirk steadied his aim, his pistol pointed at the kidnapper, his finger itching to squeeze the trigger, but Charlie and Meg were both in the way and he couldn't risk taking the shot.

The kidnapper dragged Meg down on the seat beside him, keeping her in the line of fire, settled Charlie in front of him, and the boat roared off toward the open water.

Leaving the big man to Luke, Dirk raced down the incline toward the lake, bullets kicking up dust behind and in front of him, both gunmen firing in his direction. Luke returned fire, forcing the second man to focus on him, giving Dirk a chance to reach the other aluminum boat.

He jumped in and prayed the engine would start, yanked the rope handle, then swore when nothing happened. He could hear Luke and the other man exchanging gunfire as he yanked the handle on the rope three more times and still got no response.

Sending up another silent prayer as the handle dug into his palm, he yanked again and again as he watched the kidnapper steer farther and farther out into the lake.

A string of whispered curses, a last desperate pull, and the motor fired then roared to life. Dirk grabbed the tiller and cranked the throttle, and the boat surged away from the dock. He revved the throttle full speed, racing after the kidnapper's boat, now a good long distance ahead of him. Water rushed against the hull. Fear for Meg and Charlie ate at him, making his stomach churn.

Don't let him hurt them,
he silently prayed.

He could see the shore in the distance, had no idea what the man would do once he reached it. Maybe the guy had a car parked at the opposite end of the lake as a backup means of escape.

So far the kidnappers had been well prepared.

The motor was racing full speed. With less weight in the boat, Dirk was gaining, but not fast enough. Not nearly fast enough.

He was closing the distance, getting a little nearer, when the unthinkable happened. The boat ahead of him slowed, the kidnapper stood up, dragged Meg up, and pushed her into the icy water. He threw little Charlie in beside her, then shoved the throttle wide open—and left them there to drown.

Chapter Seventeen

As the icy water surged over Meg's head, terror struck like a knife in her heart. With her arms bound behind her, she held her breath and plunged deep into the lake. For a moment she lost her bearings. Dear God, where was Charlie?

Kicking her legs, she shot herself to the surface and frantically whirled in every direction in search of her little boy. She heard him thrashing and crying for his mama, saw him go under, then spotted his bright head as he came up for a breath of air.

For an instant his terrified eyes met hers, then he went under again. Meg went after him, fear and determination driving her on. Dirk was coming. She had to keep her son alive until he could get there.

Fighting down her terror, Meg searched the murky depths but couldn't find her son, came up for another breath of air and saw him paddling frantically a few feet away. Spitting out a mouth full of water, she managed to keep her head up long enough to turn around and grab hold of his red-striped polo shirt with her bound hands as he slid under again. She dragged him to the surface but couldn't quite hold on to him.

Charlie went under. Meg ducked down and saw him, turned and grabbed him again, shoved him up but couldn't reach the surface herself. Her hiking boots weighed her down, exhausting the muscles in her legs. Her air was almost gone.

Dear God, she and her baby were going to drown before Dirk could reach them.

She knew he was coming, had spotted the fishing boat racing toward them across the lake. She just had to keep her baby alive until he could get there.

Sinking deeper, she searched madly, fear and the cord immobilizing her arms, making her movements clumsy. Her lungs ached. She couldn't hold her breath any longer. She kicked to the surface and saw Dirk's aluminum boat approaching.

She had to find Charlie. Dear God, where was Charlie? She went down again, coughed and sucked in water, shot to the surface for more air, then went down again. She spotted him, but he wasn't moving. She turned and snagged his little red polo shirt, and with her bound hands hauled him up to the surface—but couldn't reach it herself.

Her breath was gone. She was going to die here today. With a last burst of energy, she kicked to the top, saw her son's bright red hair and unconscious body floating on the water an instant before he started sinking again.

She heard the
clank
of metal as Dirk's boat reached her and he tossed the anchor into the water.

“Save . . . Charlie!” she yelled at him, the effort sucking more water into her lungs. She slid back into the water, drifted lower, down toward the bottom of the lake. Her mind felt fuzzy, her limbs no longer able to respond to her commands.

A glimpse of Dirk's powerful body diving into the water was the last thing she saw. Dirk would save Charlie. He wouldn't let her precious son die. How could she not have believed in him? How could she have sent him away? Then her mind went blank as she drifted into the reeds at the bottom of the lake and everything went black.

* * *

Save Charlie!
Meg's plea echoed in Dirk's head as he dove again and again into the dark waters of the lake in search of her little boy. He couldn't save them both. She knew it and so did he. He'd be lucky to find the boy and get him out before it was too late.

A silent scream filled his head. He loved Meg. And because he did, he would do what she asked. He dove again, tried to see any sign of the boy, any sign of Meg.

In the minutes before he'd reached them, he had ripped off the bulky Kevlar vest, holstered his weapon and set it aside, and tugged off his heavy leather boots.

Powerless to help her, he had watched Meg fighting to save her son, watched as she spent herself, determined to keep her baby's head above water. The boy had been limp and unmoving the last time he had gone under.

Dirk pulled in a breath and dove again. The boy was here somewhere. He just had to find him. His hand touched something silky. He grabbed hold and pulled with all his strength. The little boy floated up. Dirk pushed him to the surface and followed him up, sucked air into his tortured lungs, then lifted the unconscious child over the side of the aluminum boat.

He couldn't save them both. Meg had known it and so had he.

His chest clamped down.
Fuck that,
he thought, turned, and dove back into the icy water. Again and again he dove, going deeper, fanning out, searching until his legs cramped and his lungs burned from lack of oxygen.

Where are you, baby?
His chest ached and it wasn't from lack of air. He dove again, went deeper, stayed down longer. But he had to think of Charlie, had to surface and give the baby CPR. He had promised Meg.

Just as he started toward the top, he saw her hazy image in the water a few feet away, her hair unbound and floating around her face, making her look like a mermaid.

With a last burst of strength and only a second of air, he caught her hair, kicked, and hauled her up, exploding to the surface and dragging in great lungfuls of oxygen. Meg floated up beside him, but she wasn't breathing.

He had to get her out of the water. The aluminum boat rocked as another boat pulled up and the driver cut the motor. Bigger, a KingFisher with an outboard Merc and a blue canvas top. He had no idea where it had come from, but then he saw Luke, and a fraction of his fear lifted away.

Luke spotted the baby and jumped from the bigger boat into the smaller one to start CPR, while the gray-haired driver made his way to the side and reached down for Meg. Working together, they brought her out of the lake into the bigger boat.

Dirk's muscles trembled with fatigue as he gripped the side and hoisted himself over the edge. Hurriedly, they positioned Meg in the bottom of the craft, cut the cord around her wrists, and Dirk started CPR.

Five rescue breaths, forcing air into her lungs, then thirty chest compressions. Two breaths, then thirty compressions. He flicked a glance at Luke, working over little Charlie, ignored the thick knot swelling in his throat, and continued to work on Meg.

“Charlie's breathing!” Luke shouted, and Dirk felt a wave of relief and a burning behind his eyes.

Come on, baby.
Two more breaths, then thirty compressions. Two more breaths. Meg started to sputter and cough, music to his ears. She gasped in a lungful of air, coughed, and spat out water, and he eased her onto her side, into the recovery position.

“Easy, baby. You're okay. Charlie's safe. You're both okay. Just take it easy.”

She started crying. “Charlie's okay?”

“He's breathing. He's in the other boat. We need to get you both to the hospital.”

“I want to see him.” She tried to rise, coughed, and he eased her back down. He hadn't missed the dark bruise on her cheek. No way would she have let the kidnapper take her without a fight.

“Luke's with Charlie,” he said. “Just hang on a little longer.” He wanted to hold her, promise her he'd never let anyone hurt her again. Instead, he turned away. “You ready to head back?” he called to Luke.

“House is clear. The cops should be there by now.”

Dirk glanced back toward the dock and saw distant red and blue flashing lights. Both outboard motors fired up without a hitch, thank Jesus, and they headed back across the lake.

“My name's Arnie, by the way.” As he expertly steered the boat through the water, the gray-haired man reached out a hand Dirk shook. “I own the house at the other end of the lake. I heard boats on the water, motors running real hot. Took a look with my binoculars and saw you were in trouble. Your friend, Luke, came racing around the lake road and pulled his Bronco up in the yard, and so here we are.”

“You got here just in time. I'll never be able to thank you enough.”

“No need for thanks. Just glad I could help.”

“You happen to see where the man in the other boat went?”

“Saw where he beached a ways from the house and took off into the trees. I heard the sound of an engine. Must have had a car parked somewhere down the road.”

“I figured he might. Whoever he was, the guy was a pro.”

“Luke told me about the kidnapping. I guess you two took care of the others.”

Three down, either dead or wounded.
Dirk just nodded.

“I hope you catch the bastard who got away.”

“So do I.” But he didn't think catching the man was going to be easy. As he'd said, the guy was a pro. Even with the FBI on his tail, which by now they would be, there was a chance the man would escape.

Dirk looked down to where Meg lay curled on her side in the bottom of the boat. He didn't know when he had reached down and caught hold of her hand, but there it was, firmly gripped in his.

She didn't seem to want to let go.

Neither did he.

* * *

A pair of ambulances were on the scene when they arrived, along with a line of police cars. EMTs wrapped Meg and Charlie in blankets, placed oxygen masks over their mouths, and loaded them onto stretchers.

Meg pulled the mask aside. “Come with me,” she pleaded, still holding Dirk's hand as the gurneys reached the ambulance door.

“I can't,” Dirk said. “Two men are dead. Another is barely hanging on. The cops are going to have a lot more questions.”

She squeezed his hand. “You'll come, though. You won't just disappear.”

He managed to smile, trying not to remember the sight of her unconscious body floating in the water. “I'll come.”

One of the EMTs pulled the oxygen mask back over her face, then they were loaded into one of the ambulances. The badly shot-up Mickey was loaded into the other. With any luck the guy would live.

They needed answers. At the moment, Mickey the Moron was the only one who had them. Dirk had only that one brief moment with Meg. The cops had been waiting, guns drawn, when the boats had reached the dock.

He'd been given a moment with Meg after his identity had been confirmed, then he and Luke had both been interviewed. By the time they had their guns returned and changed into some dry clothes in the back of Luke's Bronco, they'd spoken to half a dozen uniformed police officers, two detectives, and FBI Special Agent Ronald Nolan.

Dirk knew Ron Nolan fairly well. He was a few years older than his own thirty-two, wore his sandy brown hair combed back, athletic, career-minded, and good at his job. They had met on a homicide case that crossed over state lines. Dirk had been hired by the family of the murdered wife to look into the husband as a suspect.

The police had cleared him. Dirk had found new evidence linking him to the crime, and Nolan had been key in making the arrest.

“We've got two dead guys,” Nolan said as they stood a ways from the house while CSIs worked the crime scene, “another guy in critical, and another still on the loose. We've also got a young woman who is either part of the crime or one of the victims.”

“Or both,” Dirk said. “The babysitter was essential to the plan. She was getting half a mil to feed the kidnappers the info they needed. She's involved up to her pretty little neck. The fact that she ended up assaulted by her cohorts was an unfortunate turn of events, but I imagine she's learned a valuable lesson.”

“What's that?”

“Crime doesn't pay.”

“Anything else you can tell me about the man who got away? We've taken statements from your friend Brodie, including a description that confirms yours. We'll also be speaking to Ms. O'Brien and her father. Anything you can add?”

“My guess, the guy was the brains of the operation. Smooth, polished, ready for anything that might come his way. He had a safe house and a bug-out location, had an extra vehicle parked on the other side of the lake. I can give you more, but it's pure speculation.”

“I'd like to hear it.”

“Average-looking, nothing about him that stood out. He's the kind of guy who can blend in wherever he wants. I think he uses that to his advantage. He's a loner, doesn't work well with others, expects them to do exactly what he says. I'd say he was going to pay these guys something, nowhere near equal shares, have them get rid of the babysitter and the kid, then he was going to disappear.”

“Which he did.”

“Exactly. I heard one of the kidnappers mention leaving by plane. You check private airports?”

“We're working on it,” Agent Nolan said.

“Could be the way he planned to escape. Could also be he just told the others that. Could be there never was a plane. Or it was just meant for him.”

Nolan nodded. “At this point, anything's possible. Since the ransom call was never made, we don't know where the kidnappers planned to pick up the money, which would have helped us narrow things down.”

“A lot of things we don't know.”

“I know one thing,” Nolan said. “Mother and child are safe and well, and Edwin O'Brien will have ten million more in the bank tomorrow than he thought he was going to have. You did damn good, Reynolds, you and Brodie, but it could have gone the other way. Next time make the call. That's what the FBI is here for.”

“With any luck, I won't have the problem again.”

Nolan handed him a business card. “Call me if you think of anything else.”

Dirk nodded, waved the card over his shoulder as he turned and started back to the Bronco. Luke was already there, champing at the bit to get back to Seattle.

“Where do you want me to drop you?” Luke asked as he started the engine.

“My apartment. I'm headed to the hospital to check on Meg, but I want to ride my bike, clear my head.”

“I don't blame you. I'll go by to see her as soon as I get the chance.” Luke drove the Ford on down the dirt lane. “So what's the deal with the two of you? You gonna start dating her again?”