“When did you do all this?” she asked.
“I began preparing for this day soon after the Mellin case. I knew it was coming.”
“You just didn’t know that I would bring it.”
“Beth, no. You didn’t cause this. It’s been waiting to happen.”
He wanted to say something profound and meaningful that would cover the broad range of sentiments rattling around inside him like dice in a cup. But he wasn’t a poet, so he kept it simple. “I wish I hadn’t limited myself to only once with you.”
“If I have any say in the matter, you haven’t.”
Each second counted. Nevertheless, he held her gaze for a precious few, then checked the pistol he’d retrieved and set it on the nightstand. “It’s loaded and the safety is off, so be careful handling it. But keep it within your reach.”
“Point and pull the trigger.”
“Several times.”
While waiting for Mitch, John worked out a plan. He kept it to himself, not sharing it with Beth because she had become increasingly fearful for both him and Molly, and it showed.
He was only slightly better at concealing the fear gnawing at him. He knew the cruelty the ogre was capable of and the delight he derived from it. It made him ill to think of the ogre anywhere near Molly. He pulsed with a craving to dispatch Frank Gray without fuss or muss.
He wanted to deal with Tom Barker on a more personal level. He’d masterminded this sadistic plot, using Molly as a pawn, hitting John where he knew he was most vulnerable. Barker he wanted to kill with his bare hands.
He knew, though, to keep those murderous impulses under control for now. Police training had taught him that mistakes were made when one allowed raw emotion to dictate decisions and actions. To keep them from overtaking him, he focused on readying himself mentally.
When Mitch arrived, he gave Beth a quick hello hug, but he had also been trained in special ops. John recognized the coiled tension just beneath the surface. Because he didn’t want Beth to overhear the plan he’d outlined, he drew Mitch aside on the pretext of checking weapons.
Mitch, accustomed to absorbing stratagems under pressure, took it all in without question or comment, then said, “Let’s do it.”
He turned away, but John hooked his elbow and pulled him back. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Fuck you. Of course I do.”
“If we pull this off, I’ll owe you big-time.”
“You sure as hell will. How about being godfather to my son?”
John swallowed thickly. “That’d be… thanks. But one more thing before we go. If it comes down to a choice of getting me out or Molly, it’s her. Got that? You’re soon to be a father. You understand.”
Mitch nodded. “I don’t count on having to make a choice, but I understand.” He slapped John on the back and said, “See you outside.” He waved to Beth on his way through the door, then melded into the darkness beyond the cabin.
John pulled on his jacket and double-checked the ammunition he’d placed in its pockets, then went over to Mutt and scratched the top of his head. “Look sharp, buddy.”
Beth was standing near the door, actually trembling. John walked over and placed his palm against the side of her neck, curling his fingers around her nape. “I’m coming back.”
“Make it a promise.”
He pulled her up and toward him. It wasn’t a long kiss, but he made a solemn vow of it.
Chapter 32
John steered into the cul-de-sac and took his foot off the accelerator, reducing his speed to a crawl. Since it was well after eleven o’clock, most of the houses were dark.
“All quiet,” Mitch said.
“But they’re here,” John said, noting the car parked alongside his SUV in front of the bungalow.
He drove the length of the lane and rolled to a stop in the darkest spot beneath the low branches of one of the oldest and most stalwart oak trees. He parked facing its trunk, cut the engine, and killed the headlights.
From the driver’s-seat window, he had an unobstructed view of the bungalow’s cheerless facade. Which meant that whoever was inside could also see him broadside. He stayed as he was, motionless except for his right hand, which curled around the pistol in his lap, and his eyes, which skittered across the front windows of the house, looking for movement.
All the blinds had been closed, but in the slits between louvers there was faint light. The end table lamp, most likely, he thought. The overhead light would have been brighter.
Where was Molly? Was she bound? Gagged? Unconscious? Injured? Would they use her as a human shield?
The questions revolved inside his head like a carousel spinning out of control. His heart was thudding. His ears buzzed with anxiety. His entire being felt supercharged by adrenaline. Each tick of his watch seemed louder than the one before it.
He looked over at Mitch, who turned his head and looked back at him. They’d already said what needed to be said, and now Mitch tipped his head in a silent but cogent communication.
John turned back to the driver’s window and stared at the house as he tucked his pistol into the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back. Then he lifted the handle and pushed the door open.
He had taken the precaution of dimming the interior car lights as far down as they would go, so he wouldn’t be such an easy target for the ogre, if not to kill, at least to maim and render useless.
But even without the lights, he was definitely vulnerable as he got out and stepped away from the car with his hands raised. With one shot, he could be dead in less than a second.