CHAPTER TWENTY
VICKI TURNED THE ring on her finger so she could see the diamond. She hadn’t gotten it sized and she knew why she’d kept putting it off. The ring didn’t fit because marrying Harp didn’t fit. Not when the only reason he was marrying her was a lie.
At the sound of his footfalls on the stairs, she stood and waited for him to unlock the door and come in with the groceries. There’d been so many days when she’d stood in this very spot, telling herself that today was the day. She’d told herself that she couldn’t live with a lie—and yet she had. Each time when she’d seen his handsome face, she’d chickened out. But none of the excuses kept the guilt at bay.
Harp looked up as he came in the door and seemed to hesitate. “Vicki?”
She hadn’t realized she was standing there, turning her engagement ring in nervous circles. She stopped herself, sliding it off as she stepped forward and laying it on the coffee table.
“What’s going on?” he asked as he took the few more steps into the tiny apartment and put down the sack of groceries. He looked down at the ring, then up at her.
“I lost the baby.”
Harp had never been much of a poker player, she’d heard. She could understand why. She watched one emotion after another cross his face. Shock. Regret. And ultimately relief.
“When?”
“It’s been a while. That’s why when you asked me to marry you...” She didn’t need to finish.
He swallowed, looking from her to the rest of the apartment as if saying goodbye. “I don’t know what to say.”
Say you love me anyway and still want to marry me. But she didn’t voice the words. She’d seen everything she needed to see in his expression.
He picked up the engagement ring from the coffee table with his uncast hand and stared at it for a long moment. “I need some time,” he said and, pocketing it, turned back toward the door.
Vicki had promised herself she’d be strong. Mostly, that she wouldn’t cry. But the moment the door closed, she dropped to the couch in tears of relief for telling the truth and heartbreak at Harp’s reaction. She told herself she didn’t want to marry a man who didn’t love her, but still it hurt so badly because she loved him. Flaws and all.
* * *
THE LAST THING Flint wanted to do was leave Maggie. He’d been to the point where he’d believed that he would never see her again. Now that he had, he just wanted to hold her in his arms and not let her out of his sight.
But if he hoped to get them out of this basement, he had to hide them until it was safe to go up the stairs. He’d read enough of Clark Terwilliger’s rap sheet to know what he was dealing with—a career criminal with nothing to lose. They were the most dangerous kind.
He was also pretty sure that the vehicle they’d heard was Terwilliger’s van returning. “I need you two to stay here for a minute,” Flint whispered before turning back toward the door. He had to find a way to get them out of there.
Maggie grabbed his hand. “Please be careful. Clark is...crazy.”
He nodded, leaned in to kiss her, and then, weapon drawn, he eased out into the hall. He had to find another way out of here. Flint moved to the bottom of the stairs to listen. There was no sound above him. Terwilliger had opened the outside door. That meant that he’d seen the broken latch. He would know someone had found his hiding place.
Would he run? Flint could only hope.
Or would he start a fire and try to burn them out? He wouldn’t put anything past the man and, given all the old furniture down here, this basement would go up like a tinderbox.
But there was a third option, he realized. Terwilliger might be determined to get the women back. In that case...
Flint moved through the maze of old furniture and auto parts and crates. He recalled seeing a loading dock. It was the only way all of these things could have been brought in.
But when he reached it, he saw that there was only the large garage door out. Laying down his flashlight, he tried to open the ancient-looking door. The metal was thin and had holes in it in places. He could feel cold air coming in one of them. But it wouldn’t budge.
From overhead, he heard a door slam and quickly picked up the flashlight and headed back through the maze to what must have been an apartment down there. Jenna was right. There was only one way out and it was the stairs.
He could hear footsteps overhead. Clark wasn’t sure where he was. Otherwise, the man would already be heading down the stairs. He swore under his breath and rushed back to where he’d left Maggie and Jenna. He had to get the two of them out of here. But with the window wells filled with dirt after years, they were trapped.
On his way back, he looked for a place to hide them as he improvised a plan. He hadn’t come this far to lose either of them.
Opening the door to the room where he’d left Jenna and Maggie, he whispered, “Come on,” and led them back through the kitchen and out in the honeycomb of partitions. The stairs had walls on each side all the way down until the last few steps. On this side, there was a tiny bathroom under them large enough for the two women to hide. There was no lock on the door.
“Stay in there,” Flint whispered as he pointed the flashlight beam into the space. “Once he comes down, I’ll try to stop him. If that fails, I’ll distract him. I want you to go up the stairs as fast as you can and out of the building to his van.” He handed Maggie his cell phone. “I couldn’t get coverage, but in case he left his keys in the van, drive until you can. Call for backup.”
Wide-eyed with fear, Maggie nodded, but he could tell she didn’t want to leave him.
“You’ll see that she gets out of here?” he said to Jenna, who nodded.
“What if he has the keys on him?” Jenna asked.
“Then take mine. My patrol SUV is parked up the road to the north. You’ll find my tracks behind the garage.” He handed over his keys.
The floor overhead groaned under the weight of a careful step. Terwilliger hadn’t opted to run, Flint thought with a silent curse. That meant they were in for a fight.
“What does he have for weapons?” he asked Jenna.
She shook her head. “I know he has a gun. A pistol. That’s the only one I saw. But he had a lot of ammunition.”
He nodded and motioned for them to go and hide as overhead he heard another footfall, then another, each coming closer to the door to the basement stairs. He had to assume Terwilliger was armed and looking for him. Otherwise why not run? Or just trap them down there?
Because hard-core criminals like Terwilliger thought they could win. Why else would he have just opened the basement-stairs door? He was coming down.
“Don’t move until I tell you to.” With one last look at Maggie, he stepped to the side of the stairs, extinguished his flashlight, pitching them into blackness.
Flint knew his best chance of taking Terwilliger down was as he came off the last few steps into the basement. If the man got past that, he could disappear into the rows of junk. Many of them were piled almost to the ceiling.
To his surprise, he heard the door at the top of the stairs close and Terwilliger’s footfalls retreat. Maybe he was leaving, making a run for it. Flint thought about going after him, but realized that might be exactly what the man was hoping for. He wouldn’t be able to get up the stairs quickly without the man hearing him. He’d be a sitting duck. It was a chance he couldn’t take.
Right now, his only thought had to be about getting Jenna and Maggie out of there and to safety. As much as he wanted to take down Terwilliger himself and see him behind bars for good this time, he couldn’t do it. He waited for the sound of the man’s van engine, praying Terwilliger would make a run for it. Once he had Maggie and Jenna out of there—
But what he heard sounded more like a small generator starting up. A moment later, the lights came on and he heard Terwilliger’s footfalls again at the top of the stairs.
While the kitchen and the bedrooms had light coming out of them, there were only a few bulbs still working in the larger part of the basement, so that area was pitched in darkness. If he let Terwilliger make it down the stairs and into the dark and junk, he would be hell to find, let alone stop.
One of the stairs creaked under the man’s weight. Flint looked around for something he could throw. In the corner was a pile of old books. He picked up one and moved into position.
His plan was simple. Terwilliger seemed determined to come back down here. With walls on both sides of the stairs—except for the last four steps—he was shielded. But once he reached those bottom steps, Flint would have a clear shot.
Terwilliger would know that, so he’d be moving fast. Flint would get only that one chance before the man disappeared into the stacks of junk.
He hefted the book in his hand and bided his time, listening to the creak of one stair, then another, gauging what the man would do and when.
In order to pull this off, though, Flint wouldn’t have much cover. All his instincts told him that Terwilliger would come down the last few steps fast—and probably blazing.
Another stair creaked.
“Whoever you are,” Terwilliger called down, “you need to show yourself. You have no business down here with my wife and daughter.”
His wife and daughter.
Flint said nothing. The man was trying to find out where he was so he knew where to fire once he hit the last few steps.
“You’re trespassing, but I don’t want any trouble, so just come on out and leave. I’ll overlook you breaking in the way you did.”
That was big of him.
Another stair creaked. Flint got ready. He hurled the book into the junk on the other side of the stairs and raised his gun.
Terwilliger came down at a run and firing—just as Flint had expected. The sound of gunfire exploded in the basement. The trick had worked. The noise of the book hitting on the opposite side of the stairs had fooled Terwilliger. He’d come down firing in the wrong direction.
Flint had a brief few seconds where the man’s broad hunched back was facing him before the man dived into one of the narrow paths through the junk. He heard the kidnapper let out a groan and knew that he’d taken at least one of Flint’s bullets. The man had stumbled, but he hadn’t gone down. And then he was gone, disappearing into the darkness and the maze filling the other side of the large basement.
Unfortunately, Flint couldn’t be sure that Terwilliger had gone deep enough in the junk that he wouldn’t have a shot at Maggie and Jenna when they made their run up the stairs. He was going to have to go in after him. He moved away from the light coming out of the kitchen and quickly ducked behind a huge crate as Terwilliger fired—giving away his position.
Out of the darkness somewhere deep in the junk came a laugh, then Terwilliger’s voice. “In case you’re interested, you winged me. I’m bleeding like a stuck pig, but it isn’t going to stop me. You can’t have them. I’d rather see them both dead. Is that what you want?”
Flint fired through a space between a stack of stained mattresses and an old commercial refrigerator, but Terwilliger was already moving.
* * *
MAGGIE PEERED OUT of the bathroom door under the stairs. Flint had closed the kitchen door, cutting off most of the light, but some still bled out to where they were hidden.
“With the lights on, he’ll be able to see us,” she whispered to Jenna. “If we make a run for it...” Before Jenna could stop her, Maggie sprang from her hiding place and rushed to the door of the kitchen. She heard gunfire, but couldn’t be sure if it had been aimed at her. She thought she heard Flint swear.
She ducked into the kitchen and closed the door. Now Clark knew where she was. All he had to do was circle around to where Jenna had been kept and come through that way. She knew she had to move fast. She quickly looked around for something she could use. An old broom sagged against the far wall. Picking it up, she swung it, breaking the light bulb overhead and pitching the kitchen into darkness.
She hurriedly moved to the bedrooms, before making her way back in the dark toward the kitchen door. She waited, knowing that Clark would expect her to make a run for the stairs. She remembered what Flint had done to fool Clark. Feeling around on the table, she found the cup she’d seen there.
As she carefully opened the door, she saw that the bottom of the stairs was now pitched in darkness. Jenna came out of the bathroom under the stairs and stood with her back against the wall in the semidarkness, out of sight from the rest of the basement.
Unfortunately, there was enough ambient light coming from the other bulbs in the larger part of the basement. If she ran now, he would see her.
She got ready to throw the cup toward the other side of the basement, doubting Clark would fall for it a second time, but figuring it might give Flint the opportunity he needed.
Chucking the cup, she waited until it hit and ran as gunfire boomed and Flint yelled, “Run!”
* * *
JENNA GRABBED HER hand and pulled her toward the stairs. Maggie couldn’t bear leaving Flint down here with that madman, but she had no choice. Even if Jenna let go of her hand, Maggie knew she had to do what Flint had asked her to. It might be their only hope. They had to get him help.
She felt deaf from the gunfire. Now more gunfire echoed through the basement. Jenna tightened her grip on Maggie’s hand as they stormed up the stairs. Those were the longest steps Maggie had ever taken. She expected to feel a bullet slam into her back at any moment. She stumbled in the darkness once, but Jenna’s grip kept her upright and then they were at the top of the stairs and the open doorway and the light.
They burst through and around the corner. Maggie was breathing hard. So was Jenna. “This way.”
With Jenna still clutching her hand, they burst out of the building. Maggie blinked, surprised to realize it was twilight. How many days had she been here? Jenna let go of her hand and ran toward a brown van parked in front of what appeared to be an old two-car garage.
At the sound of more gunfire, Maggie hesitated, but for only a moment. Get help. But leaving Flint down there was the hardest thing she’d ever done in her life, even knowing that she couldn’t save him.
She ran after Jenna, her shoes quickly filling with the deep snow. She shivered from the cold and the fear. Jenna had opened the driver’s-side door of the van. “He didn’t put it in the garage. Maybe...” She let out a cry.
Maggie couldn’t tell if it was one of disappointment or excitement until she heard the jingle of a key ring.
* * *
FLINT LEANED AGAINST a stack of old cabinets and reloaded his weapon. He hadn’t heard Terwilliger for a few minutes, but wasn’t about to give away his location by moving. He’d thought he’d wounded the man again. But Terwilliger had veered at the last minute, disappearing behind a pile of boxes.
Now Flint listened for both the madman in the basement with him and the sound of a vehicle engine turning over. He just hoped the keys had been in the van. That Maggie and Jenna would go for help. Not that he was counting on help reaching him anytime soon.
Town was miles away. Getting Maggie and Jenna out of this basement had been about making sure they were safe—not actually getting help. He couldn’t count on them getting cell phone service for miles. By the time they reached town, notified the sheriff’s department... Well, it would be too late.
Flint knew he wouldn’t have that long. He and Terwilliger could only play this cat-and-mouse game so long before one of them ended it. He checked his ammunition. He had only one clip left.
* * *
“HOP IN,” JENNA SAID, and Maggie ran around to the passenger side and slid in as Jenna cranked over the engine. The motor roared to life and Jenna let her foot off the clutch. As the van leaped forward, Maggie looked toward the building where she’d been kept prisoner, shocked to realize it was out in the middle of nowhere.
She saw no other houses, only rolling hillside and a narrow stretch of snow-covered pavement. And now she was leaving Flint down there in that basement alone.
Glancing in the back of the van, she saw shopping bags. Some of the items had spilled out on the rough road into the roadhouse apparently. So that was where he’d gone, into town to buy supplies.
There were several rolls of duct tape, a large roll of plastic sheeting, several box cutters, a twelve-pack of Scotch towels and a shovel.
Clark had said he was going to move them. Her heart pounded at the sight as she realized what he’d really been planning to do with them.
As Jenna started to pull away from the roadhouse, Maggie knew she couldn’t leave Flint—no matter how this ended.
“I can’t go,” she said and started to open her door.
“You can’t help him!” Jenna cried, hitting the brakes as Maggie began to jump out.
“Here’s his phone. Call for help as soon as you can, but I’m not leaving.”
“Maggie, no. He’s a sheriff. He knows what he’s doing.”
“He doesn’t know Clark like we do.”
“Listen, there’s nothing you can do to help,” Jenna pleaded. “Please.”
“It only takes one of us to get help.” She stepped out of the van and started to close the door. Then she said, “Hurry.”
“At least take this,” Jenna said and tossed her a large army coat that had been flung over the seat.
Slamming the van door, she shrugged on the coat, trying to ignore the smell of Clark on the fabric. As she walked back toward the old building, Jenna took off in the van. She knew this was crazy, but she couldn’t leave Flint. In her heart, she feared that he needed her. She couldn’t think of anything worse than not being there for him.
* * *
AT THE SOUND of the van’s engine revving as it pulled away, Flint felt a wave of relief. Maggie and Jenna were safe. Now all he had to do was find Terwilliger and end this. Or if he got the chance, get to the stairs. He could block the basement door until an army of deputies arrived. It was the smartest idea he had.
Unfortunately, he knew that the madman down there with him probably had the same idea. With the paths through the junk all facing the stairway, neither of them could make a run for it without being seen—and shot. Without someone covering him, he was stuck in the basement until one of them killed the other.
If he could last until help arrived, it would still be hard for anyone to get to them. Terwilliger would have heard his van leaving. He would be expecting the law and a shoot-out. Whoever came down those stairs would be shot unless Flint was close enough to the madman to keep him from firing.
“Maggie and Jenna have gone for help,” he called and quickly moved as gunfire pelted the stack of boxes he’d been hiding behind. “Pretty soon, this whole place will be filled with cops.” He moved again, backtracking. He didn’t want to stay far from the stairs. He had a feeling Terwilliger was doing the same thing. Only one of them would be leaving there.
He reloaded with his last clip, telling himself he had to conserve or he’d be out of bullets and then it definitely would be over. As he started to move, he froze at a sound upstairs. Someone had just opened and closed the back door.
Terwilliger must have heard it too, because he let out a laugh deep in the junk. “Well, I wonder who that is?” he called before moving. There was a shuffling sound, then nothing.
Flint felt his heart drop. He didn’t think the man had an accomplice. At least not one that Maggie and Jenna had known about or they would have told him. But no matter who it was up there, this would change things. “It’s probably a lawman who saw my patrol SUV pulled off up the road,” he called and hurriedly moved as gunfire followed him. “Give yourself up.”
Gunfire came in answer. The man had to be running out of ammunition, didn’t he? Maybe not. Jenna had said he had a lot of it. Apparently he’d planned for something just like this.
Flint realized that he didn’t know exactly where the gunfire had come from but that Terwilliger was closer than he’d thought. The realization came a few seconds too late. He’d been hiding behind a column of wooden crates stacked almost to the ceiling.
He heard something falling and realized Terwilliger had overturned one of the stacks of junk. It fell, slamming into the crates where he now stood. He started to move to the side, but he was too slow. The crates tilted at him and began coming down.
Flint tried to get away from them, but Terwilliger opened fire at the side where he’d been headed. The crates fell. They were much heavier than he’d thought. One hit him and knocked the weapon out of his hand. As he watched his gun skitter across the floor, one of the crates knocked him to the concrete. He tried to push it off, but there were too many of them and they were heavier than they had looked. He managed to get most of his body out, but one leg was caught, the crate crushing down on it.
Flint frantically tried to reach his weapon, but it was a good foot too far from his fingertips. He could hear Terwilliger making his way around to him. It would be just a matter of time before he reached him and finished this.
He looked for something he could use to pry the crate off his leg and spotted a table leg. Hurriedly, he began to unscrew the leg closest to him from the table.
Overhead, he heard the basement door open.