“It’s Griffin, boss. I’m using Miss Parrish’s phone. She’s in trouble, sir.”
The relief that had shot through him when he thought she was calling turned to a bitter taste in his mouth. “Tell me what’s going on.” He listened to Griffin’s tale, his stomach tightening with dread. “All right. We’ll get you and your men out. Hang tight.” He shoved the phone back in its holder.
“What’s going on?” Chris asked.
“Griffin confirmed Iceman’s got Ashley with him. Iceman shot Griffin in the leg and locked him and the farmhands in the tack room in the barn. He said Iceman seems to expect Ashley to use her computer to log into an account and get his money. That’s why he came here, to get her computer.”
“But she’s not the one who embezzled the money. Her friend did. So why isn’t Iceman having Lauren log into the account?”
“I don’t know. All I do know is that once Ashley isn’t able to log in, she’s in real trouble.”
“What are we going to do?”
Dillon looked out over the fields again, a kernel of an idea popping into his head. “How much longer before SWAT gets here?”
“Five minutes, give or take.”
He explained his idea.
“You’re crazy. Just wait and we’ll do the cornfield approach. It’s the only safe way to get to the house.”
“You heard what Griffin said. I’ve got to buy Ashley some time. And I can’t leave Griffin and his men there to die if Iceman decides to eliminate witnesses. Are you going to stand there arguing with me or are you going to help?”
He swore. “Fine. Do it. I’ll intercept SWAT and tell them your idiotic plan. Dillon—” Chris put his hand on his shoulder “—don’t make me have to put on a suit. I don’t even dress up for church. I sure don’t want to dress up for a funeral.”
Dillon grinned. “You want me to be careful and don’t get killed. Got it.” He melted back into the trees and headed along the tree line, away from the house.
Chapter Fifteen
Dillon stopped his mad dash through the woods. He was as close to the wooden rail fence that bordered the pasture as he was going to get without stepping into the open. Hopefully, he’d have a little luck on his side. He was going to need it.
He put his fingers in his mouth and let out a shrill whistle. Moments later he heard the sound of hooves drumming against the ground, getting louder and louder. Boomerang topped the far hill and headed straight for the fence. He hop-skipped to a halt right before running into the fence and dipped his nose over the top rail in question, his nostrils flaring as he snorted a welcome.
Dillon glanced back toward the house, a hundred yards away. He didn’t see anyone, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t see him once he left the cover of trees. He took off, sprinted to the fence, then used the bottom rail to boost himself up and onto the stallion’s back.
Boomerang snorted and danced away from the fence.
“Easy, boy, easy.” Dillon sat high on the withers, like a jockey getting ready for a race, and got a good handful of mane in his right hand to hold on to. He leaned as far to the left as he dared, using his legs to guide the horse and keeping his head and shoulders hidden by the long-flowing mane and the horse’s thick neck. “Come on, Boomerang. Let’s round up some help.” He squeezed his legs and guided the stallion across the field toward a group of trail-trained horses, the kind that would docilely follow Dillon’s lead.
* * *
I
CEMAN
SHOVED
A
SHLEY
and Lauren into Dillon’s library and paused in the doorway to speak to one of his thugs. Ashley stumbled and had to catch herself on the table in the middle of the room, the same table where Dillon and his fellow detectives had been reviewing the case notes two nights ago. A pang of sadness went through her and she glanced around the room as if she could somehow bring Dillon back just by picturing him here. Her gaze swept past the bookshelves, the bank of TV screens to the windows... Her gaze shot back to the TV screens and her mouth dropped open.
It couldn’t be, could it?
There, on the bottom screen, the security camera showed a view of the northwest pasture. A group of six horses trotted through the field, and on the neck of the bay-colored stallion leading the pack clung a familiar figure—Dillon.
Ashley gasped and hurried farther into the room. She glanced back. Iceman was still in conversation with the other man in the doorway. Lauren stood beside the table, watching Ashley with a look of confusion on her face. Ashley grabbed a book from one of the nearby bookshelves and quickly dragged one of the ladder-back chairs over to the corner, praying the chair would block the TV screen from view. She plopped down and opened the book just as Iceman looked over at her.
He frowned. “Put the book down and sit at the table. Get on the computer and access that account. Now.”
She got up, left the book on the seat and hurried over to the table. She sat as far away from the TVs as she could, hoping to keep Iceman from noticing the screens.
Lauren sat beside her and placed the laptop on the table. “What are you doing?” she whispered.
Ashley kept a wary eye on Iceman, who’d gone back to the doorway and was talking to the other gunman again.
“Dillon’s alive,” she whispered. “I saw him on that bottom screen.”
“Dillon? The hot SWAT guy you told me about on the phone?” Lauren whispered back.
“Yes. I thought he was killed in the fire, back at the house where Iceman grabbed me. But he’s alive.”
Lauren’s brows rose. “Iceman?”
“Luther Kennedy.”
“Oh.” She scooted closer to Ashley. “Shouldn’t we power up the computer and at least pretend to access the account?”
“You’re right, but we need to figure out some way to stall Iceman.” She turned the laptop on and once it booted up she used her Wi-Fi hotspot software to access the internet through a cell phone network. “Now what?” she whispered. “Any ideas?”
“Why don’t you access your email? If he asks questions, you can tell him you hid the codes in one of the emails in your folders.”
“Good idea. I haven’t checked my email since before the shooting at Gibson and Gibson. I probably have tons.” She glanced up to make sure Iceman wasn’t listening before opening her email.
Lauren peered over her shoulder, her face so close to Ashley’s that her breath tickled the fine hairs on Ashley’s neck.
“Uh, Lauren. You don’t have to get quite so close.”
“What? Oh, sorry. Just curious to see the kind of mail a real CPA gets every day.”
The resentment in Lauren’s voice sent a chill down Ashley’s spine. She leaned away, wanting to put even more distance between them.
“Sorry,” Lauren said, sounding contrite. “I know all of this is my fault. I was jealous of your success, and desperate. Please forgive me.” Her eyes filled with tears.
Ashley gave her friend a quick hug. “Stop apologizing. Let’s just make it through the next few minutes and hopefully help will arrive soon. Dillon’s an amazing man. If anyone can get us out of this mess, he can. We need to be ready to move.”
* * *
S
O
FAR
D
ILLON
’
S
plan was working. He’d gathered a small herd of ten horses in addition to Boomerang. And he figured since no one had shot at him yet that no one had seen him. His hope was they’d be too distracted by the group of horses to notice one man lying low against the neck of the lead horse.
He was fifty yards from the barn where Griffin and his men were being held when a man hopped over the fence by the barn. He cupped a match against the slight breeze and lit the cigarette dangling between his lips as he strode down the length of the barn. He leaned against the wood, took a deep puff from his cigarette. His brows lowered in obvious confusion as he watched the horses trotting toward him. Suddenly his gaze clashed with Dillon’s, and held. He dropped the cigarette and clawed for the gun at his hip.
Dillon cursed and slapped the stallion’s flank, whipping him into a gallop. The trail horses whinnied and followed his lead. The man dropped to his knees, both hands wrapped around the gun, looking for a clear shot. Dillon aimed the stallion directly at the gunman.
The man’s eyes widened and he jerked around, running back toward the fence. Dillon waited until the last second, then threw his leg over the stallion’s back and leaped from the horse onto the man, grabbing him around the neck and twisting as they both fell to the ground.
The flash of hooves had Dillon diving out of the way. He rolled under the fence just as the herd dodged to the side, their shrill whinnies filling the air as they whipped back toward the pasture. In their wake, the gunman’s body lay broken and lifeless, facedown in the dirt.
One down, but how many more to go?
Dillon slid under the fence, pocketed the man’s gun and crept toward the back of the barn.
* * *
I
CEMAN
FLATTENED
HIS
palms against the tabletop and leaned down, his fierce gaze narrowing at Ashley. “How much longer?”
Her hands froze on the keyboard and her mind raced, trying to think of another excuse, anything to buy some time.
“I think we’re close,” Lauren said beside her. “Give us a few more minutes.”
His gaze shot to Lauren’s and he abruptly nodded and went back to the doorway, where he lounged against the doorframe talking to the other gunman.
“Thanks,” Ashley whispered. “My mind went blank. I didn’t know what to say.”
“Open that email, right there. It’s from David.” The excitement on Lauren’s face confused Ashley even more than her words.
“What are you talking about?
Your
David? David Dunlop? Why would he send me an email?”
“Just open it already.” Lauren reached over and clicked the email. A slow smile spread across her face. “This is it!” She tugged the laptop toward her. “Luther, you were right. David sent the account numbers to Ashley. We’ve got it!”
Bile rose in Ashley’s throat as she stared in horror at Lauren.
Iceman hurried to the table and read the email over Lauren’s shoulder. He smiled, and then he kissed her.
Ashley clutched her hand against her chest as Lauren’s triumphant gaze locked on hers.
“Fooled you, didn’t I?” she gloated. “Do you know how much I hated being in the back of that van with you, having to pretend to be your friend? But I did it. I bided my time, hoping my theory was right, that David had contacted you somehow to give you the account information. And I was right.” She looked up at Luther, her obvious infatuation for him shining in her eyes. “I was right, wasn’t I?”
“Yes, you certainly were.”
“I don’t—I don’t understand,” Ashley whispered.
“Not as smart as people think you are, are you,
Ash?
” Lauren laughed. “Luther and I used David as our pawn, to get to the money. But he saw Luther and me together at a stupid restaurant, of all places. We were so careful, and the one time we slipped up, David saw us. When I got home, he confronted me, told me he was going to expose me for the fraud I was and tell everyone what I’d done, starting with you.”
Her eyes fairly blazed with the hatred Ashley had never known existed.
“Unfortunately, he was far more clever than I thought. He moved the money out of the account right before Luther killed him. We didn’t realize David had double-crossed us until we went to get our money and it was gone.”
While she spoke, bitterness dripping from every word, Luther sat beside her and typed on the laptop.
Lauren cupped her chin in her palm. “It was my theory that David had somehow sent you the information. Luther wanted to hold you hostage and torture the information out of you. But I knew what a goody-two-shoes you are. I told him if you knew you had the information, you’d have gone to the police. So it was my idea to make you think I was a hostage, too, so I could trick you into finding the account information for us. For once,” she spat out, “I was the smart one. I was more clever than you!”
“I thought we were friends,” Ashley said, the words barely above a whisper as she forced them past the cold lump of fear in her throat.
“Friends?” she sneered. “How could I be friends with someone who always thought they were better than me?”
Luther finished typing and closed the laptop. He stood and motioned to the other man at the doorway.
“But I never thought—” Ashley started to say.
“Shut up. Shut up!” Lauren shoved her bangs out of her face. “You don’t get to talk to me anymore. Me and Luther are going to—”
Luther grabbed Lauren’s arm and pulled her up out of her chair.
“Honey, stop,” she said. “You’re hurting me.”
He shoved her toward Ashley’s side of the table and drew his gun. “Get over by her.”
The other man stopped beside him and pointed his gun at them, too.
Lauren’s face wrinkled with confusion. “What are you doing? We got the money. I don’t need to pretend to be her friend anymore.”
“Oh, Lauren,” Ashley said. “Don’t you see it? He used you, too, like you used me.”
Lauren shook her head. “No, no! He didn’t. He loves me. Luther, you love me.” She stared at him, her confusion turning to dismay. “Don’t you?” she whispered, sounding like a lost little girl.
He ignored her, turning to the man beside him. “The money is in my account now. Go get the others. I’ll finish this.”
The man nodded and hurried from the room.
Luther pointed his gun at Lauren.
“Wait, wait!” She jumped up from her chair and ran to the corner of the room. “Luther, look! I can still help you. That detective you thought you’d killed is still alive.” She whipped the chair away from the monitor. Luther crossed the room to stand beside her.
How could you, Lauren?
Ashley thought, even as she took advantage of their distraction and hurried across the room to the door. She paused, unable to resist a quick glance at the monitor, as well.
In the middle of the screen, right beside the barn, a body lay in the dirt. But he was too small, his hair too light to be Dillon. Relief flashed through Ashley.
Luther leaned in close to study the monitor.
Ashley dashed from the room. She raced to the end of the hallway under the stairs.
“Luther, no, don’t!” Lauren’s cry sounded behind her.
Ashley whirled around, expecting to see Luther pointing a gun at her, but he wasn’t there.
Bam!
A gunshot echoed from the library.
Oh, no, Lauren.
Grief and regret slammed into Ashley, making her double over. Luther appeared in the library doorway. He raised his gun. Ashley jerked back and ran around the corner.
Bam!
Wood exploded next to her head, raining splinters and sawdust down on her. She cried out and sprinted for the front door.
* * *
T
HE
KNIFE
SLASHED
down, narrowly missing Dillon’s shoulder. He slammed his fist into the other man’s jaw and sent him spinning across the barn. The knife went flying and embedded itself in one of the stall doors. Dillon dove for one of his guns that the other man had made him toss when he got the drop on him. The other man saw his intent and dove, as well. They both grabbed the gun at the same time and grappled for control, rolling across the floor.
“Jack, Jack! Help!” the man yelled.
Dillon cursed. There must be another gunman close by. He twisted his body, lying half on top of the other man, but he still couldn’t get control of the gun. Footsteps pounded against the dirt outside, coming closer, closer.
In desperation, Dillon lunged forward and bit the other man’s wrist.
The man screamed in agony and let go of the gun.
Dillon slammed the man’s head against the floor. His eyes rolled up and his body went limp. The footsteps were close, too close. Dillon twisted his body around and aimed the gun two-handed at the door just as another stranger stepped into the doorway, pointing his gun at Dillon.