Chapter 8
EIGHT
What have you done?
Of course those were the words thundering through Selah’s head as she held mighty little Joshua to her back and followed the woman with the dark hair—RJ, as she’d introduced herself while locking them all in the safe room.
Selah had had no idea what the woman was talking about.
Except—the camera. The one where she’d spotted James—businessman James, in mergers and acquisitions—entering the front door after breaking the doorjamb.
With the RV’s tire iron.
What in the world?
The room had been cast in a red glow, and a panel of four monitors had hung on the wall, small, but big enough to see both the front and back of the house, the lower floor from the kitchen, and the entryway.
“Who are you?” she’d said to RJ, who’d picked up her son and comforted him as he cried. A teenager had stood, arms wrapped around herself.
The room hadn’t seemed big enough to weather a siege. Maybe four feet wide and eight feet long, with metal sheeting lining the walls and a door at the far end.
“The better question is, why did you bring Alan Martin to my front door?” She’d spoken in low tones, but a definite lethal edge had broken through.
“I…Who?”
“Alan Martin. See, I’m York Newgate’s wife.
This is my daughter, Hana, and my son, Joshua.
And the man out there is…Well, it’s a long story.
But he’s been hunting me, and more, my husband, for a while now.
And he’s found us, thanks to you.” She’d shaken her head.
“The RV was a good trick. I should have been smarter.”
“What…A trick? No, we needed wheels because we were in a train wreck…” But her attention had caught on the screen, and the way James—er, Alan?—was turning on all the burners on the stove.
“Oh no,” RJ had said. She’d turned to Hana. “Just like we practiced.”
Practiced?
James had begun pouring oil onto the floor.
“Hana, take Josh—”
But Selah had taken one look at the expression on the girl’s face and reached for the toddler. “I’ve got him.”
RJ had considered her for a second, then handed him over.
Then RJ had headed to the door and pressed in a code, and the door had unlocked.
Inside, narrow metal stairs had led down inside the house to a door below.
Who were these people?
RJ turned and gestured to Hana. “C’mon now. You can do this.”
Hana started down the stairs.
“You’re next. Don’t fall.”
Selah tightened her hold on Joshua and started down.
RJ came after her, closed the door, and locked it again.
She met them at the bottom, a red light glowing. “When we go out, we run to Jethro’s, okay?”
Oh, she was talking to Hana.
Then she looked at Selah. And that’s when Selah spotted the Glock in RJ’s hand. “You follow Hana and don’t look back.” She picked up her son and kissed his cheek. “You hold on to this nice lady, okay, J-man?”
His chin started to tremble.
RJ kissed him, then set him on Selah’s back, moving his legs around her, his arms around her neck.
Selah gripped his arms.
“Don’t drop my son.”
Selah’s eyes widened as she looked at RJ. “No, never—I would—”
“Good.” RJ keyed in another code, then opened the door. The air hinted at smoke. The woman looked out, then drew back in. Met Hana’s eyes. “Follow me. And don’t look back.”
Hana nodded.
“Go.”
RJ took off, Hana with her, and Selah leaped out after her.
And then she ran.
Now, they cut across the yard, right toward the dark water.
Oh God, please save us!
RJ stopped and directed Hana to a path through the woods, well-worn but hidden in the foliage.
Behind Selah, glass shattered from the house, and she glanced back right before disappearing into the forest. Flames licked out the kitchen window.
What have you done?
RJ reached out for her. “Keep going. Follow Hana.” Then she stepped behind her, and Selah guessed she was checking for followers.
“Go! Go!”
So Selah ran. Sticks and twigs broke beneath her grimy sneakers, and Hana pushed away tree branches that snapped back and smacked Selah across the face. She slowed, put distance between them, and that helped.
Maybe a hundred or more yards from the house, Hana emerged into another yard. A smaller house—a cabin, really, made of cedar, with a wraparound porch and a firepit circled by Adirondack chairs.
Hana ran up the stairs and pounded on the sliding glass door. “Mr. Jethro! Mr. Jethro!”
By the time Selah got to the porch, a man had opened the door, caught Hana by the shoulders. “Are you okay?”
Then he looked past her, and his gaze must have landed on RJ. “What’s going on?”
Selah would put him in his late sixties, maybe early seventies, lean, strong, dressed in a flannel shirt and jeans. He had a sort of cop confidence in his green eyes.
“Martin,” RJ gasped. “He found us.”
“Get inside.” Jethro stood at the sliding door, gestured for Selah to follow Hana.
She stepped inside, into a kitchen with yellow Formica counters, a small round table, and a cozy living room with a sofa and a couple overstuffed chairs.
The place had a feeling of home and safety, and as she set Josh down, Selah grabbed the back of a chair, trying to right herself.
What have you done?
RJ came in, closed the sliding door, and breathed out, hard. Met Selah’s eyes, her jaw clenched.
Then she bent and scooped up Josh, holding him close.
“You okay?” said Jethro.
RJ nodded and then gestured to Selah with her head. “She was in a train wreck—”
“The Amtrak?”
“Yeah. And somehow got mixed up with Alan Martin. I’m not sure how, but they ended up on my doorstep.”
Jethro frowned, his own jaw tight, then looked at Selah.
“I have no idea what’s going on.” She had her arms wrapped around herself and now held out a hand. “Selah Silver.”
“Jethro Darnell.” He shook her hand, a firm grip that also spoke safety…
If she wasn’t the villain.
“I don’t know who this Alan Martin is. That man back there—he told me his name was James Cooper and that he was a businessman.
He helped me rescue a family and then get away from this crazy farmer in the mountains, and he paid for my B&B last night and…
” She shook her head. “I’m so sorry—but how was I to know that he was some sort of”—she glanced at RJ—“stalker?”
“He’s not just a stalker,” RJ said and put Josh down. He ran over to his sister, who got on the floor with him. She’d grabbed a book off the shelf, and Josh settled into her lap.
RJ pitched her voice low as Jethro stared out the window, watching. “Once upon a time, Alan Martin was my husband’s…um, partner. They were in the same firm.”
Selah was starting to get the feeling that that firm wasn’t in mergers and acquisitions—at least of companies. Perhaps of countries?
“Martin disappeared for a while, and when he resurfaced, my husband thought he was involved in a bombing in Moscow.”
“A what?”
“It’s a long story, but Martin was clearly into something rogue, and he ended up being part of an assassination attempt on the president during the inauguration.
He was arrested and then escaped prison and…
well, that’s another story. But let’s just say he’s been in league with the Russian Bratva and involved in numerous attempts to draw the US into war. ”
“With Russia?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Money? Power? Turmoil? I don’t know why. But he has a special sort of anger toward York, and we’re not sure why. Tried to kill him years ago…” She looked out the window. “And apparently, he’s still trying.”
Selah stepped up behind RJ. Black smoke now plumed into the sky, evidence of the fire breaking through the windows, maybe even the roof.
RJ put her hand on the window, sighed, shuddered. “York bought this house for us even before he asked me to marry him.”
“I’m so sorry.” Selah stepped back, sat on a chair. “I—”
“There’s someone in the woods,” said Jethro, and he stepped up to RJ.
RJ lifted her Glock, but Jethro put his hand on her shoulder. “Go to the back of the house. Take the kids.”
She turned and looked at Selah, those same words in her expression. Selah got up, took Joshua from Hana. Glanced back at RJ. She wore a thin-lipped expression.
“I’ll take care of them.” Then Selah put her arm around Hana and directed her down the hallway.
They came to a study filled with music equipment—a guitar on a stand, a keyboard, speakers, a mic, and a mixing board.
A music poster hung on the wall, advertising an event at a local bar and grill, appropriately named Jethro’s. The words With Special Guest Raven were written across the picture of a beautiful dark-haired woman. She possessed Jethro’s features, clearly a relative.
Selah closed the door behind them. The room came with an outside entrance, so perhaps a studio of sorts. She measured the distance from the house to the forest and then shook her head at the thought that she was actually trying to figure out exit routes.
As if she were some sort of special forces operator.
Shouting lifted from beyond the room. A “Get down!” and a “Don’t move!”
She reached out for Hana and pulled her close.
And then she closed her eyes and prayed. Because how, just how could she have brought this terror upon these people?
Of course, a second before she prayed, North’s voice cluttered her thoughts—
How am I supposed to protect you when you do stupid things?
Good, very good, question.
“Lord, we don’t know what’s going on right now, but who do we have in heaven but You? Please…save us. Protect us. Send help.”
Hana wrapped her arms around Selah and Joshua and held on, crying.
“Help us to trust You. To believe in You. We cling to You. Please come to our aid—”
“Selah!”
The voice thundered through the house, bashed through the door, and hit her bones.
What—
“Selah!”
Selah put Hana and Joshua behind her. Then she turned and opened the door.
North.