Countdown Read online

  Her face erupted in a gigantic smile. “You mean like this one?”

  He took a swig of his soda in hopes the cool liquid would cool his reddening neck. “Yeah, like this one.”

  She smiled and picked up a calzone. “All I’m asking is that you talk to me next time, James.”

  For a split second he froze. She’d never said his name that way, soft and caring. He averted his eyes but nodded in agreement. His insides heated. They ate standing up, at the counter, in silence for a few minutes. The squeaking springs, from the boys on the couch cushions, accompanied their chewing. For a moment, the briefest of moments, he felt almost normal. The ticking clock on the far wall grated his nerves. Would there even be a next time? Would Derrick come through for him?

  “Do we stand a chance if there are crooked NSA agents after us?” Rachel asked, her voice almost a whisper.

  He didn’t want to think about the odds if they were being targeted from the inside of the NSA. Besides, the likelihood seemed slim. “We do with Derrick,” he finally said.

  “Why do you trust him so much?”

  James wiped up some escaped sauce with the mini calzone. “The NSA had—maybe they still do—a high school summer intern program. Nikki and I both worked for Derrick straight out of high school. We continued working for him during summer breaks while we attended college at MIT.”

  Her mouth dropped into that small o again that made him grin. “So she must have had the same genius status as you.” She set her food down and crossed her arms.

  “I can’t stand the connotations of that word.”

  She picked up her cup. “Which are what?”

  “Like a superhero of intelligence instead of someone with huge weaknesses like everyone else. Nikki and I both excelled at math, but even within the field, we had strengths in different areas.” He shrugged. “Anyway, Derrick served as our supervisor in DC before he moved here.”

  “So you worked for him after college, too?”

  “For a short time.” And that was his cue to change the subject.

  He pulled his phone out of his pocket and looked at the time. Three minutes until they should get a phone call. The bars at the top were all empty except the shortest one. He groaned. “I forgot. Ever since we installed energy-efficient windows and new roofing on the building, you can barely get a signal.”

  He threw a thumb over his shoulder. “The boys should be hitting their sugar crash any minute. The youth pastor has a smaller room he uses for counseling or keeping his kids busy while he works.” He pointed to the door at the far end of the room. “It has a TV and an ancient VCR—if you can believe that—plus a nice couch. Do you mind trying to wind them down with a video while I use the landline in the office?”

  Rachel regarded him with wide eyes but smiled softly. “No problem.”

  James weaved his way through the dark hallways on autopilot. Thanks to all the hours he’d spent here, it was like a second home. The people at the church had been a lifeline when Nikki had passed, and a year ago, when he’d finally found his footing again, he wanted to give back. The boys loved joining him while he did it.

  He opened the dark brown door separating the children’s wing from the rest of the building. The main sanctuary and offices were significantly older. A second signal flickered to life on his phone. “Come on, Derrick,” he whispered. “Where are you?”

  He stepped into the church office and picked up the black receiver. He pressed the button for an outside line. The sound of shattering glass filtered through the hallways and doors of the church.

  James dropped the receiver and sprinted down the hallway. He shoved past the door and rounded the corner when he heard Rachel. Her voice, strong and powerful, bit out each word as a command. “You will not lay a hand on those boys.”

  His bones chilled and his muscles twitched, ready to attack, but surprise was his only weapon. He dared a peek around the final corner. Rachel stood in the doorway of the youth center holding what looked like a knife. She was the only thing standing between his boys and the two men from his house.

  SEVEN

  Rachel drew a ragged breath. Her core grew hot as if filling with lava. She’d had just enough time to settle the boys with a cartoon when she had heard the breaking glass. She’d told them not to open the door for anyone but her or their dad. They had nodded without moving as she’d locked the door from the inside and run for the entrance to the youth room. She’d unzipped her purse, slung diagonally across her body, grasping for anything that might help. She had barely made it to the open door to block the men’s entrance.

  Rachel held a wide stance, three feet from the men on the other side of the threshold. In one fist, she gripped her haircutting shears. It was the only weapon she could think of in the heat of the moment. In the other fist, her fingers concealed a travel-size aerosol hairspray.

  The gunman to her left held a gun at his right side. If she kicked the weapon out of his hand like James had done at her house... Even if a gunshot released, it’d be impossible to hit the room the boys were in.

  The man’s sinewy forearms gave her pause. “Where is he?”

  “He went to get help,” she answered. Hopefully, James had reached Derrick and the cavalry would arrive any second. The second man didn’t point a gun at her, but judging by the bulge underneath his jacket, the likelihood he carried one seemed strong. Several white, plastic ends stuck out from his pocket. Could it be zip ties?

  He followed her gaze and the man’s lips twisted in a smug grin. “Look, lady, let us get the boys, and we’ll leave you alone. We won’t hurt them.”

  The gunman gestured the gun to the right, as if telling her to get out of the way. A calm strength she’d never known draped over her trembling arms and fingers. “Maybe you didn’t hear me the first time. You will not touch those boys.”

  Something caught her peripheral vision. A hint of dark, wavy hair? The only light in the hallway came from behind her back. It could’ve just been wishful thinking, shadows or her eyes playing tricks. She didn’t want to look again and take the chance the men would see him. Please let it be James.

  “See we’ve got ourselves a problem, then, because I’m not leaving without those boys,” the man to the left grunted. “It’d be a shame if I had to hurt you in the process.”

  “Wh-what if I let you take me instead?” She pulled her shoulders back and forced her chin up, hopeful she came across as confident. “The first set of kidnappers thought I was worth something.”

  The gunman glanced at his partner. The distraction was enough to peek. James slid slowly around the corner and nodded. He was going to try to take them down, she was sure of it. But with a gun in play, he wouldn’t stand a chance.

  “See, what you’re not getting is we call the shots,” the man responded. “I have the gun. What if I want to take all of you? I’m trying to do you a favor and not shoot you, so put the scissors down and step aside.”

  Rachel gulped and took a step closer to him.

  The gunman squinted as if unsure she was threatening or trying to cooperate. He looked down at the scissors in her hand.

  “Watch it,” the other man shouted. He had his hands outstretched, his focus also on her scissors, ready to grab. Rachel twisted her right wrist, flicked her index finger on top of the aerosol can and pressed down. The spray hissed and hit her mark—the gunman’s eyes. He yelled and moved both of his hands upward toward his face.

  Rachel grabbed his arm and used the force of her twist to slam his elbow into the door frame. His arm bounced off the wood, but the gun was still in his hand. She shoved her entire body into his arm. His forearm smashed into the door frame as she pressed his wrist past the frame, backward. He loosened the grip on the gun and dropped it.

  She kicked the weapon away, into the room, and hopped back to retrieve it. She wanted to be a
s far away as possible from the growling man. She straightened and aimed the gun at him. His entire face turned beet-red as he wiped at his squinting eyes with his forearms.

  Next to him, the other man dropped to his knees with one arm behind him—the same technique James had used on the kidnapper at her house.

  “He has a gun,” Rachel called out. “On his left side.”

  James’s eyes flicked to hers in recognition as he twisted the man’s right arm back. He shoved the guy onto his stomach on the ground and retrieved the gun.

  “I think he has zip ties in his left pocket.”

  James lifted his eyebrows. “How thoughtful.” He slipped the retrieved gun into the back of his waistband before moving to the zip ties. He tied the man’s hands and feet together within two minutes.

  The other guy, blinking rapidly against his teary eyes, sneered. His rage evident by the way he looked at Rachel, she feared he might charge at her. She tightened her grip on the gun and took a step back. He wouldn’t be as easy to take down.

  “Put your hands behind your back,” Rachel ordered.

  The gunman leered but didn’t respond.

  She waved the gun in the same manner he had moments ago. “I know my way around a—” She twisted the gun to the right and left. “SIG-Sauer 9 millimeter?”

  He raised an eyebrow. James took advantage of the distraction and kneed the back of his leg. The man dropped slightly but not before he jerked his elbow back toward James.

  James twisted at the last moment, barely missing the blow. The man spun around, ready to attack. James faked a punch toward the man’s face, but the moment the guy tried to block him, James punched him in the stomach. The man bent over, grunting as James grabbed his wrist and twisted it behind his back. The man’s hands were zip-tied behind his back before Rachel could blink.

  “Get the boys,” James yelled.

  She jogged across the room as she checked the safety and shoved the gun into her purse. She slipped the scissors back into their protective case and zipped them inside a compartment. The can of hairspray was somewhere in the room, but she didn’t take the time to retrieve it. She knocked on the door. “Boys?” She tried to lighten her voice. “It’s Rachel. Let me in.”

  She waited a few seconds. Nothing. She knocked again, this time harder, and jiggled the doorknob. “Boys? Ethan? Caleb? You don’t have to turn the video off, just let me in.”

  Her heart raced. Were they just too scared to open the door? Had something happened? She riffled through her purse until she found a bobby pin. She bent it open to access the skinniest end. She slipped it into the small hole at the center of the doorknob and wiggled it until she heard a satisfying click.

  Rachel flung the door open as James ran across the youth room. “What’s taking so long?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.” Her voice shook. The moment she laid eyes on the boys, both curled up on the couch, sound asleep, her shoulders relaxed. An uncharacteristic laugh escaped. “They’re asleep.”

  She put a hand on her mouth to stop herself from crying in relief. The twins had no idea what had just happened. They rested together, safe and cozy on the suede-brown love seat.

  James placed his hands on his hips and shook his head. “I’ve never been so thankful for a sugar crash.” He strode across the room. “We need to hurry. I dragged the gunmen into the men’s bathroom and barricaded the door with a chair, but I don’t know how long that’s going to last. They’re tied up but not paralyzed.”

  She lifted Caleb into her arms.

  James headed for the door, a quick look over his shoulder. Ethan rested against his chest, not even stirring. “You good?”

  She nodded. “I’ll be better once we’re somewhere safe. What happened to Derrick? Is he still coming?”

  “I wish I had an answer. Can you run with Caleb?”

  She shrugged. She’d never run before with a thirty-pound weight on her chest. “I’m willing to find out.”

  * * *

  James’s arms vibrated. He tried to stop the shaking by tightening his muscles, but that only worked against him. He wrapped the fingers around the steering wheel and checked the rearview mirror for the twentieth time in two minutes. His boys were still fast asleep as he sped through the streets in the darkened night.

  Stomach acid rose in his throat. He replayed the events. Had the guys escaped the zip ties yet? Every fatherly instinct had tempted him to kill the men to keep them from chasing after his sons again. What would stop them otherwise? Derrick had let him down again. I did the right thing, Lord. I’m leaving justice to You.

  Except, would he be able to handle the Lord’s timing and version of justice? He’d let Nikki die in a hit-and-run, and the authorities never had found the driver responsible for killing her. The concave spot underneath his Adam’s apple hurt from the combination of acid reflux and the intensity of his heartbeat against his neck. He had no guarantees what the Lord would do.

  This entire mess was his fault. He should’ve never agreed to help Derrick in the first place. He told himself he’d said yes to help Derrick out, but when he examined himself, the truth was more complicated. There was an element of pride driving his decisions...a little bit of showing off that he still had what it took to be NSA. He’d wanted to show Derrick that despite “selling out” to the easy life of the corporate world, he still had valuable skills.

  He’d been promised no danger. They’d said, “Just help out, and let the guys with guns take over.” Instead, the wrong guys with guns had taken over and gone after his boys.

  And Rachel. The image of her standing between the men and his boys would forever be burned into his memory. His heart slowed ever so slightly. First going after the kidnappers and then standing in the gap...he could never express his feelings of gratitude to her in a real, tangible way. But what was she thinking? She could’ve been killed.

  And that was his fault, too.

  Something pressed into his shoulder. He blinked and glanced at the hand patting him.

  “James, are you hearing you me?” The streetlights emphasized the whites of Rachel’s wide eyes. “Are you okay? You’re shaking. You haven’t answered a single question.”

  He returned his focus to the road. He eased up on the gas pedal. Where was he? He took a deep breath. “I’m as okay as a guy can be after seeing gunmen going after his kids and neighbor.”

  “I get that. Do you need me to drive?”

  He recognized an office building up ahead to the right. That meant they were just a few minutes from an on-ramp to the freeway. “No. I do want to call Derrick, though. And give him a piece of my mind.”

  “Let me. He’s had more than enough time.” She reached and took the phone from his hand. Her fingers brushed against his wrist as she did, and his stomach unclenched slightly.

  He exhaled. She was right. He needed to get a grip. “The contact is in my phone.”

  “I figured. You don’t want to have it on the car speakers because of the kids, right?”

  “I don’t want to risk waking them up right now,” he acknowledged.

  “Understood.” The phone lit up the interior of the car, but she turned down the brightness. “Here goes. I’ll hand you the Bluetooth when he answers.” She held up the phone to her ear.

  James held his breath and let the car coast. He heard the tinny ring from where he sat.

  “Message.” Her voice shook like she was on the verge of crying. She looked to him for what to do.

  “Don’t leave one,” he answered. This was unlike Derrick. Something was keeping Derrick from getting to them. If Derrick couldn’t find agents he could trust then what hope did James have? What would they do?

  Rachel’s head hung low, but she didn’t cry, she didn’t pepper him with questions.

  “How are you handling this so well?” he a
sked.

  She leaned back in the seat, so silent and still he wondered for a second if she’d passed out. “People tell me I’m good in a crisis,” she whispered. “I’ve had plenty of practice.”

  “You keep mentioning little things about your past that begged to be questioned, but yet you don’t want to talk.” His tone had bite to it. He recognized the symptoms. If he wasn’t careful, he’d end up taking out his frustration on the next person he spoke to. Rachel deserved nothing but kindness, adoration even, from him. “Someday, I hope you can tell me,” he said, this time softer. “When you feel comfortable.”

  “Fair enough,” she muttered.

  “But answer me this. How’d you know what kind of gun that was?” He turned to her in time to see her roll her eyes.

  “Okay. I used to have a mentor—a second mother really—in my life. Meredith knew what I grew up with and helped me escape it. I lost her this year and I suppose all of this—”

  She threw up her hands. “I guess part of me really wants to talk about it, and it keeps slipping out, especially with you. Sorry. Bottom line, I grew up with drug dealers. They talked about guns a lot. The SIG-Sauer is the type the Feds use the most. Or used to use. It came to mind in the heat of the moment. I didn’t spout it to be accurate, I don’t even know if I was. I just wanted them to believe I knew my way around a gun.”

  “And do you?”

  “Not at all.” She shook her head and a tapping sound reached his ears.

  He turned and realized her teeth were chattering. Maybe she was just now realizing how close she’d come to getting shot. He reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Where’d you put the gun?”

  “It’s in my purse.”

  They drove in silence on the freeway, underneath a couple of exit signs.

  “James, where are we going?”