Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
The gravel driveway to the Wylies' property crunched under my tires as I pulled up behind their modest farmhouse. Seven-fifteen in the morning, same as every day for the past week. Miss Laverne would already be up, probably helping Delilah cook breakfast despite the woman’s insistence that Miss Laverne was the guest.
The routine gave me something to focus on besides the constant worry gnawing at my gut. First, I checked in on Miss Laverne, made sure she felt safe and cared for, then I headed back to coordinate security measures with the team.
Evie and Aiden’s house was isolated enough to provide Joy with a semblance of security but close enough to civilization that help could reach her quickly if need be.
Also, Aiden had installed quite the kick-ass security system at some point.
Simon said it had something to do with the colorful family background he came from.
There was definitely a story there, but I’d think about that later. Right now, I was just happy he had it.
While I was making my morning rounds, Jase was there with Joy, so everything was good.
I parked beside the house where the wooded area provided natural cover from the road. The Wylies lived on twenty acres of rolling Tennessee countryside, their nearest neighbor a quarter mile through the trees.
Peaceful.
Safe.
The kind of place where an old woman could recover from hip surgery without worrying about the outside world.
I grabbed the bag of groceries from the passenger seat and headed for the front door. Miss Laverne had texted last night that they were running low on coffee, and I'd picked up her favorite brand along with some licorice.
“Graham, sweetie!” Miss Laverne's voice carried through the screen door before I could knock. “Right on time.”
I stepped inside, immediately hit by the smell of bacon and fresh biscuits. Delilah Wylie was at the stove despite her recent surgery, moving carefully but determinedly around her kitchen.
“Mrs. Wylie, you shouldn't be cooking. I’m here every morning to be Miss Laverne’s helper.”
“Pish posh.” Delilah waved a spatula at me. “A hip replacement doesn't mean I've forgotten how to make breakfast. Besides, Laverne's been waiting on me hand and foot. Least I can do is feed everyone.”
Miss Laverne appeared from the hallway, fully dressed with her silver hair perfectly styled despite the early hour. “Don't argue with her, Graham. I learned that lesson forty years ago. When Delilah is in this kind of mood, there’s no stopping her.”
“What you can do is go holler for Jerome. He’s watching the news, and his biscuits will get cold unless you can pull him away.”
“Yes’m.” I went down the hall to the small living room and found Jerome in his recliner watching the news. They were doing a sports recap. “According to your wife, if you don’t come to the kitchen soon, your biscuits will get cold.”
He looked up at me and grinned. “She always says that, but that woman has been making sure my biscuits stay hot for over forty years.”
I laughed. That was the life. I wanted to be able to say the same thing about Joy forty years down the line. “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
He winked at me, and I wandered back to the kitchen.
Miss Laverne pressed a cup of coffee into my hands, and I sat down at the kitchen table. I loved this part of my day, with these thirty minutes of normalcy, surrounded by people who reminded me that good still existed in the world.
“How's our Joy doing?” Miss Laverne settled into the chair beside me at the table.
“Better today. Sleeping in for once.” I sipped the coffee, feeling some of the tension leave my shoulders. “She's been having nightmares since the SWATting.”
“That poor child.” Delilah shook her head as she loaded a plate with scrambled eggs and bacon. “What kind of monster terrorizes an innocent girl?”
“The kind we're going to catch,” I said with more confidence than I felt.
Miss Laverne studied my face with those sharp blue eyes that missed nothing. “You look tired, sweetie. Are you taking care of yourself?”
“I'm fine.”
“That's what men always say.” Delilah set the plate in front of me with motherly authority. “Eat. You're too skinny.”
I chuckled. I couldn’t think of a time since I started playing football in high school that somebody had called me skinny.
For the next twenty minutes, I let myself pretend this was normal.
Just a man having breakfast with two women who'd become family, talking about everyday things.
Jerome came in and told us all how the Tennessee teams had done over the weekend.
Miss Laverne updated me on her quilting project.
Delilah complained about her physical therapy exercises.
Nobody mentioned stalkers or death threats or the weight of keeping everyone safe.
My phone buzzed with a text from Joy.
JOY: Missing you. Jase says you better bring donuts when you come back.
Smiling, I typed back a quick response when my phone rang.
Unknown number. I had a bad feeling. Not a telemarketer bad feeling. A Spidey sense bad feeling.
“Excuse me, ladies. I need to take this.”
I stepped onto the front porch, swiping to answer.
“Wallace.”
The voice coming through the speaker wasn't human. Digitally altered, robotic, terrifying in its mechanical precision.
“Time's up, Navy man. I'm done waiting. I'm done playing games. I will have Joy today, and there's nothing you can do to stop me.”
The line went dead.
I was already moving, my heart hammering against my ribs. My fingers flew over my phone screen, hitting Jase's contact.
He answered on the second ring.
“I want maple bars,” he said.
“Cut the shit. I just got contacted. He plans to take Joy today.”
“Well, he can’t have her.”
“Lock every door. Every window. Don't open anything for anyone. I'm on my way.”
“On it.”
“Keep your eyes on Joy at all times.”
“Got it.”
I ended the call and immediately opened the group text.
GRAHAM: He called. Threatening to take Joy today. She's at Aiden and Evie’s place. Jase’s with her. I'm thirty minutes out. This is our chance to get him.
My phone started blowing up with texts.
SIMON: Calling backup. Stay on comms.
I burst back through the screen door. “I have to go. Emergency with Joy.”
Miss Laverne was already standing, her face pale with concern. “Is she hurt?”
“She’s fine. But I need to get to her now.”
“Go,” Delilah commanded from the kitchen. “Drive safe.”
I spun around and lunged out the kitchen door, the screen door slamming behind me as I sprinted for my truck.
As soon as I was in, I had the engine roaring to life, and I reversed out of the driveway with tires spinning on gravel.
The road from the Wylies’ to the O’Malley’s house wound through Tennessee hills, mostly straightaways with a few steep grades.
I'd driven it dozens of times, knew every curve. Not the best roads to be driving like a NASCAR driver, but I didn’t give a shit. Joy’s life was on the line.
I pushed the speedometer past fifty, then sixty. Too fast for these roads, but not fast enough. My phone continued to buzz with updates from the group, but I ignored it. Every second counted.
The first hill came up fast. Shit, I was going to have to slow down a bit.
I slammed my hand against the wheel.
“Fuck!” I didn’t want to slow down. But I knew this stretch, a long steep grade that bottomed out in a sharp right turn. I always downshifted here, using engine braking to control my speed.
I tapped the brake pedal.
Nothing.
This time I pressed against it instead of tapping.
Nothing.
I pressed harder, pumping the pedal. My truck continued accelerating down the hill, picking up speed with every yard.
Sixty-five.
Seventy.
The speedometer climbed as gravity took over.
My heart hammered against my ribs. I pumped the brakes again. The pedal went straight to the floor with no resistance. No pressure. No stopping power.
Think, Wallace.
Seventy-five miles per hour down a steep grade with a sharp turn at the bottom.
I yanked the emergency brake. The truck shuddered, rear wheels locking briefly before the cable snapped with a sharp twang that I felt through the floorboard.
“Motherfucker!”
Eighty miles per hour.
The curve was rushing toward me like a wall. I could see the guardrail, the steep drop beyond it into a ravine thick with trees.
I downshifted hard, jamming the transmission into second gear. The engine screamed in protest, RPMs redlining as I tried to use engine braking. The truck slowed slightly, but not nearly enough.
Eighty-five.
The curve was there. I had maybe three seconds to decide my next move.
Take the turn at that speed and inevitably roll the truck?
Aim for the guardrail and hope it held?
Aim for the trees and pray the thick oak trunks would stop me before the ravine without killing me on impact?
Trees.
The best bad option.
I cranked the wheel hard right, feeling the truck start to slide. The rear end broke loose, and suddenly I was sideways, skidding toward the tree line at probably a hundred miles per hour. Time slowed down. I could see individual leaves on the oak branches rushing toward my driver's side window.
The impact, when it came, was like being hit by a freight train.
The first tree caught the truck's rear quarter panel, spinning it like a top. Metal screamed against bark. Glass exploded inward as the side windows imploded. The second tree hit the driver's door with a sound like thunder, crushing steel and sending a shock wave through my entire body.
My ribs. One. Two. I felt them snap. Pain exploded through my chest, white-hot and consuming. My head whipped sideways, cracking against something hard. Stars exploded behind my eyes.
The truck flipped.