CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
STANDING IN THE freezing cold of the dark building, Maggie had had no idea what to do next. She’d heard more gunfire from downstairs, then what sounded like something large crashing to the floor. Now she heard nothing. She didn’t know what was going on down there or who she might be coming face-to-face with as she opened the basement door.
A musty smell rose up from the blackness at the bottom of the stairs. Beyond, she could see only a little light. She stepped to the side to listen and heard a disquieting silence. Was Flint still alive? If he was, he would have said something. And if Clark was the only one alive down there...
She looked around, an idea coming to her. Someone had left a chair just down the hallway by the ladies’ room. She moved away from the door, walking as quietly as she could, and picked up the chair. The plastic seat cover had been torn open, most of the stuffing gone. Its metal legs were icy cold to the touch.
At the basement door, she carefully peered around the edge, ready with the chair if she needed to hold Clark off. But there was no one on the dark stairs that she could see. She didn’t know any other way to get a response from the basement.
She raised the chair, ready to hurl it downward.
* * *
FLINT HEARD TERWILLIGER approaching him cautiously. The man wouldn’t know that Flint couldn’t reach his weapon. Nor did Flint suspect Terwilliger knew who was upstairs. He gripped the table leg and, grimacing in pain, tried to pry the crate off his leg.
His first attempt failed. When the crate dropped back on his leg, it was so painful that he almost blacked out. But while his vision blurred, he knew he had no time. He tried again, knowing it might be his last chance before the man put a bullet in him. If whoever was upstairs was an accomplice of Terwilliger...
Suddenly the basement filled with the clatter of a large object cartwheeling down the steps. In the path just on the other side of him, Flint heard Terwilliger turn and fire toward the steps.
With his last gasp of strength, he levered the crate off just as the gunfire subsided. He crawled over to his weapon and pulled himself up in a sitting position. He had no idea what had just come crashing down the stairs. Whatever it had been, it had bought him time. Also, it had answered one of his questions.
Whoever was up there, it wasn’t Terwilliger’s accomplice, and now they both knew it. But he had a bad feeling he knew who it was. More than ever, he had to end this and soon.
But he was still a sitting duck. All Terwilliger had to do was peer around the end of this pathway and he’d see him. He had to try to get to his feet, but he feared his ankle might be broken. Which meant he wouldn’t be walking out of there.
* * *
HARP NEEDED A DRINK. He started to get into his patrol SUV, but then realized it would be better if he walked. The last thing he needed was to get picked up for drinking and driving. He headed down the street toward the closest bar.
He felt poleaxed. Vicki wasn’t pregnant. She hadn’t been pregnant for who knew how long. She’d let him believe she was. She’d let him buy her a ring, ask her to marry him, break his damned hand trying to bust down a door.
Feeling like a fool, he pushed open the door to the bar. The first beer went down like water. He ordered another and silently cursed the cowboy who kept playing sad love songs on the jukebox.
“You all right?” the bartender asked when he ordered a third beer.
“My girlfriend...actually, my former fiancée...just gave me back my ring.” He pulled it out of his pocket and laid it on the slick surface of the bar.
“Sorry. Maybe it’s for the best,” the bartender said and placed another draft beer in front of him.
“Yeah, you’re right, I guess.” He picked up the ring and spun it like a top on the bar. The diamond caught the light as it circled. He thought of the day he’d bought the ring, how excited and happy he’d been. The tug on his heartstrings surprised him. “We were going to have a baby. She lost it.”
“Tough break,” the bartender said distractedly.
“Yeah. It isn’t like I was in love with her,” he said, but the bartender had already walked away.
Harp finished his third beer, feeling the rush of the alcohol and suddenly needing some fresh air. He stepped outside, but didn’t know where to go. Actually, he had nowhere to go. He’d given up his apartment when he’d moved in with Vicki.
He turned toward the center of town, walking aimlessly. He’d never felt so lost. This time of night, there wasn’t much going on. He used to joke that they rolled up the sidewalks in this tiny burg at eight o’clock.
There was little traffic since all the stores were closed. Only the few bars were open still, but the night was cold. The winter storm had left behind a good two feet of snow that was now plowed up into piles until the city could get it all hauled away. The winter scene had a sad, desolate feel to it.
“It isn’t like I was in love with her,” he said to himself again. But the words seemed cold and brittle on his tongue. He felt that pull on his heart again and stopped walking. “I do love her.” His voice broke.
Turning back, he started for the apartment. He had to tell Vicki how he felt. He fished in his pocket, afraid he’d left the ring on the bar. But there it was. He gripped it in his palm. He couldn’t wait to put it back on her finger.
He hadn’t gone far when he heard footfalls behind him. He turned in time to see the man holding the tire iron before he took the first blow.
* * *
NOW WHAT? MAGGIE ASKED herself as she leaned against the wall out of the hail of bullets. The basement grew quiet again, but in the distance she heard the sound of a vehicle coming up the road.
She frowned. Jenna couldn’t have gotten to town this quickly. But she’d thought there was a café or bar close by. Or maybe she’d been able to get cell phone coverage and had called for help. Was that why she was coming back?
Maggie swallowed, reminding herself that Jenna was her mother. Like her, she couldn’t leave someone she loved with Clark Terwilliger.
Going to the back door, she looked out as Jenna pulled up, put down the passenger-side window and shouted, “Come on! I called for help, but in the meantime, I have a plan.”
Maggie hesitated, but for only a moment. At least Jenna had a plan. It was more than she had. Terrified that Flint was already dead in the basement, she ran through the snow to the van.
“What’s your plan?” she asked as she slammed her door and Jenna threw the van into Reverse. “I’m so scared that Flint is trapped down there.”
Jenna nodded. “I thought that might happen. Clark won’t stop until one of them is dead. On my way back from making the call to the cops, I saw something in the van’s headlights. It appears there is a road that descends down to the basement level. There is a loading dock, but next to it there is an old garage door at ground level. It has to be the way they got all that junk into that basement. I thought if I could get this van going fast enough, I could break down the door and into the basement.” She looked over at Maggie. “What I’m proposing is dangerous. We could wait for help from town—”
“No. I’m scared there isn’t time.”
“What’s been happening while I was gone?” Jenna asked.
“Lots of shooting.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what’s happening down there. I just have this awful feeling that Flint is in terrible trouble.”
“He’s still alive. Otherwise, Clark would have come out. I’m glad I got back when I did. I was so worried about you.” She gave Maggie a smile and reached over to touch her arm before shifting the van into gear. “I’m going to drive down the road to what appears to be a loading dock,” she said as the headlights of the van shone on the side of the old building. “You’re going to get out. Then I’ll back up and try to bust down the door. If this old van can do the job.”
Maggie started to argue but Jenna stopped her. “Your part is even more dangerous. Have you ever fired a weapon?” Jenna reached down to pull out a pistol. “I found this in the van’s glove box. It’s loaded and ready to go. All you have to do is point and shoot. Be ready. If I manage to break through the door... If you see Clark...”
Maggie nodded and took the pistol. “Just point and shoot?”
“That’s it,” Jenna said. “I’m thankful that Anvil taught me to shoot.” She sounded sad. “He is a good man.”
Jenna turned down onto a lower road, busting through the snow until she reached an area where the wind had blown off, leaving open ground. She stopped the van. “Ready?”
* * *
FLINT HEARD THE sound of a vehicle headed in his direction. It was too soon for the law even if whoever had left earlier had reached the sheriff in Sheridan. Which meant whoever was driving was coming back.
He groaned inwardly, terrified how badly this could all end. At least with Maggie and Jenna safe, he could face whatever was about to go down there. But if they were both back...
Gritting his teeth, Flint grabbed hold of one of the crates still in the tall stack with his free hand and used it to pull himself up on his good leg. Tentatively he tried to put pressure on his injured leg and grimaced in pain. It wasn’t broken, but it was injured bad enough that, while he might be able to stand, maybe even walk a little, he wasn’t going far.
“Sounds like my van,” Terwilliger said, his voice way too close on the other side of the closest stack. The man let out a laugh. “Women never listen.”
Flint worked his way, holding on as he shuffled away from the fallen crates to a spot where junk was piled high. He found a space where he could push his body into an indentation in a stack of furniture and waited.
Terwilliger would have heard him moving, but there was nothing he could do about it. Either the man was out of ammunition or he was saving what he had just as Flint was doing.
He waited, wondering how long it would take for the local law to get there. Too long. Terwilliger was no fool. He would know time wasn’t on his side. The sound of the van’s engine revved outside. Earlier he’d heard the back door open and close. Did that mean whoever had been upstairs had now gone?
He told himself he couldn’t worry about that now. He had to tune in to Terwilliger and his next move. He had only a few shots left. He had to make them count.
He heard the van engine die away. Good—they were leaving again, although that didn’t make a lot of sense. Had at least one of them contacted the local sheriff? He could only hope. What else would they be doing?
That was when he heard the van coming back. Only this time, it was from a different direction. This time the engine was revved up so loud it sounded as if it was headed right for them. What in the—
* * *
MAGGIE HELD THE pistol to her chest. The evening was cold and clear and surprisingly bright because of the snow. She’d moved to the side of the building and now stood waiting. Jenna was right. The door into the basement looked like it had seen better days. But the snowdrift in front of the door was high. What if she hit the door and nothing happened except she got hurt behind the wheel?
It wasn’t a great plan, but it was the only one they had, as Jenna had pointed out. “You love this man, don’t you?”
Maggie had nodded, her throat too tight to speak as tears had burned her eyes.
“Then we have to try to save him.”
Maggie had stared at the woman, telling herself, This is your mother. Your birth mother. The woman who tried to protect you for years and still is. She is willing to lose her own life to save yours—and Flint’s.
Now she shivered as she heard the van engine rev and watched as Jenna roared down the road. Snow flew up over the windshield as she busted through one snowdrift after another. She was going too fast, Maggie thought as her heart lodged in her throat. She realized with a cry of anguish that she might have found her mother only to lose her.
The van hit the snowdrift in front of the large old loading-dock garage door and seemed to disappear into a huge cloud of snow crystals before the sound of screaming metal filled the air. The initial impact was like a cannon going off.
Maggie rushed around the edge of the building to find the van halfway into the basement, the engine still running. Steadying the gun in both hands, she stepped over the debris and worked her way along the side of the van and into the basement. She couldn’t see Jenna behind the wheel. She couldn’t see anyone.
* * *
FLINT REALIZED WHAT was happening just moments before the van crashed through the old loading-dock garage door. The bumper that had torn through the thin metal crashed into the first pile of junk. He heard what was coming and tried to move as quickly as possible.
Like a line of dominoes, the rows of junk began to topple. In the light from the van’s headlights, he could see years of dust rising like smoke into the air. Over the clamor, he couldn’t hear Terwilliger, but he had a pretty good idea where he was headed. Either out the stairs or the open doorway before he was crushed under the weight of the debris now coming down.
Flint shuffled toward the stairs, his leg causing him so much pain that he had to fight passing out. But he was almost to the end of one of the rows. Once he could see the stairs...
The sound of the gunshot made him flinch. He looked over, half expecting to see Terwilliger through a space between a stack of furniture. But with a jolt, he realized that the shot hadn’t been fired at him. Another gunshot filled the air, this one ending in an explosion of glass.
Terwilliger was firing at whoever had crashed the van through the door.
* * *
MAGGIE FLINCHED AT the sharp gunfire. She’d moved only a few yards inside the basement, when the stacks of secondhand goods had begun to fall. In the dust that rose, she didn’t see anything for a few moments.
Her gaze had shifted to the van, hoping to see Jenna. But there appeared to be no one behind the wheel. Had she climbed out? Or was she lying in there injured?
She realized there was nothing she could do for her mother right now. Clark had fired at the van and shattered the windshield. She thought she heard a groan come from inside the cab. But it was another sound that made her quickly step behind a large armoire that was still standing against the wall.
For a moment, she couldn’t tell where the approaching footfalls had come from. Then she saw him. Clark was heading toward her, his gun dangling from his right hand. She saw his bloodstained shirt and the odd way he was moving. For a moment, she forgot about the gun in her own hand.
But seeing the way he moved toward her, she knew there would be only one way to stop him. Hurriedly, she raised the gun and fired. The shot went wild. She tried to steady the weapon in her hands, her heart a thunder in her chest, her breath coming out in rasps.
“Don’t,” she called to him. “Don’t. I’ll shoot you.”
He raised his gun. An instant later a bullet whizzed past her head, making her jerk back as it lodged itself in the wall behind her. “You fire again and next time—”
His words were lost as out of the corner of her eye Maggie saw Jenna sit up behind the wheel of the van again. She didn’t look good. There appeared to be blood running down the side of her face. The engine was still running although the van had rolled back a little, leaving just enough space between its destroyed front end and the fallen junk that Terwilliger was making his way toward Maggie through that open pathway.
Clark didn’t seem to notice Jenna. He was too intent on closing the distance between himself and Maggie. It wasn’t until Jenna ground the gears that he stopped directly in front of the van to turn his head in her direction.
The van engine roared as Jenna tromped on the gas. The heavy vehicle lurched forward. Maggie screamed as Clark raised his gun and fired. The bullet shattered the rest of the windshield. But the van didn’t stop until the wall of junk brought it to a jarring halt. The motor died.
Maggie looked toward the now-missing windshield. There was no sign of Jenna. Nor a sign of Clark. All she could assume was that he was crushed under the van and the debris. She looked into the huge basement now in a jumble of fallen treasures.
“Flint!” she called. “Flint?”
There was no answer, but in the distance she could hear the sound of sirens headed their way.
* * *
FLINT WAS EDGING along the wall near the stairs when he heard Maggie call his name. Before that he’d heard more gunfire followed by the roar of the van engine before it crashed again into the piles of junk. More had tumbled, some of it hitting the walls of the apartment and breaking through the Sheetrock.
“Maggie?” he called back. “Where is Terwilliger?”
“I think he’s under the van.”
“And Jenna?”
He heard a sob in her voice when she answered. “I can’t see her.”
“But you can see Terwilliger?”
Silence. Then the words he feared most. “He’s not—” Maggie let out a cry, and even before Flint cleared the first downed pile of junk, he knew. All his fears came in a rush. Standing next to the van with a headlock on Maggie and a gun to her temple was Terwilliger.