Hidden (Jacobs Family Series Book 1) Page 12

  “He ever say anything?”

  “Yeah. He said he’d take it out of my pay.”

  “What was your pay, Reggie?”

  “He wasn’t ever really clear. Said it would depend on what they paid him. Said it would be enough. More than I make sacking groceries, but I kept sacking anyway. I kind of knew it wasn’t going to pay out.”

  “Did he ever threaten you, Reggie?”

  Dana leaned forward, wishing she could see the expression on the boy’s face as he answered. Mrs. Mifflin stood and paced back and forth in front of the window, chewing her thumbnail. Dana was afraid if she left the woman, even for a few seconds, she’d fly to pieces.

  “Yeah. A few times. He said I’d be sorry if I ratted him out. Said…” Reggie’s voice shook, then stopped all together.

  “Whatever it was, we won’t let him do it. But we need to know what his plans are, if he has any.”

  Reggie drew in a deep breath. “Said my little brothers were real cute. Said he wouldn’t mind taking them away for a while.” Silence again filled the comm unit. “That’s when I knew I was in over my head. Knew I couldn’t just walk away.”

  “Your brothers are safe, son. We won’t let anything happen to them.”

  Reggie coughed. There was the sound of a chair squeaking as someone stood up and walked across the room.

  “Did he ever hit you?”

  “Once or twice. No worse than my old man did.”

  Dana heard Ben sigh. When he didn’t follow up with another question, she decided it was time to end the interview. They’d been at it for nearly thirty minutes. She’d have to get a crew in to sweep for fingerprints, move the fertilizer, and possibly relocate the family.

  Her mind had slipped to those follow-up steps, which is why the next few seconds didn’t immediately make sense.

  Mrs. Mifflin had murmured she was going to check on Frankie in the next room. The next thing Dana knew, the woman was screaming, frantic because she couldn’t find little Frank.

  Reggie hollered something about a tree house near the garage.

  Clay was on the comm unit, reporting movement at the back of the property, and Ben was ordering everyone to get out of the house.

  “To the street, Dana.” He busted through the living room door, pushing Reggie in front of him. “Take them both to the street.”

  Before she could argue, Ben had fled out the back door, toward the garage, toward the wall that had burst into flames.

  Thirty-one

  Ben ran toward the garage, calculating the amount of time it would take the ammonium nitrate to detonate.

  And it would detonate. The blaze had started at the back of the garage, but the perp had used an accelerant. Even as he ran, the flames consumed the dry wood of the garage. The roof collapsed with a sigh, and the fire leapt higher into the clear, blue sky.

  Any evidence they might have recovered was lost.

  All he could hope now was to save the boy. Ben realized he didn’t have minutes to do it. He had seconds.

  Two trees towered over either side of the garage. A cottonwood to the east, and an elm to the west. The elm had branches low enough for hands and footholds.

  Ben didn’t slow down until he stood underneath it.

  Even as he gazed up into the face of the raven-haired child, he could feel the heat from the fire. He prayed with every ounce of his soul for God to give them ten more seconds.

  Looking up at the boy he shouted, “Jump, son.”

  The child squinted down through the growing smoke, glanced back at the fire, then peered doubtfully at Ben’s outstretched arms. Making his choice, he flew into the air like a kite, falling in the sudden absence of wind.

  Ben staggered back two steps. Clutching the boy to him, he plunged toward the street. He nearly made it to the southwest corner of the house.

  The blast from the secondary explosion lifted him into the air and propelled him past the kitchen window. Ben instinctively curved his body around the boy.

  The next instant they hit the ground and rolled. Fortunately, he took most of the impact on his left shoulder and hip. The child whimpered, but continued to cling to him.

  Heat seared his back as the flames from the garage shot outward. Magnified by the fertilizer, the blaze caught in the trees. The intensity of the fire created a wind of its own, sucking items past them, over them, raking their bodies with sticks, discarded toys, and trash.

  Ben squeezed his eyes shut against the smoke. When the boy coughed, he pushed his head down further into the cave he was trying to make with his body.

  With one part of his mind, Ben listened for additional explosions, counting for ten seconds, then twenty. He heard the emergency vehicles, screaming across the streets of Taos.

  Another part of his brain noted the boy’s thin shoulders, the way he shook like a cowed pup, the broken sounds he continued to make.

  After another minute, he was reasonably sure there wouldn’t be any additional explosions. The boy had begun pulling in deep, ragged breaths and coughing harshly against Ben’s chest. He had to take the risk and get him out of the thickening smoke.

  Ben bowed his head so the boy could hear him over the roar of the fire. “Put your arms around my neck. I’ll carry you out.”

  The smallest of nods confirmed the boy had understood him. Ben felt two little arms, snaking up, finding his shoulders, then clasping around his neck. The boy kept his head buried, as if he could wish away the terror around him.

  Ben visualized the west side of the house, then opened his eyes. The smoke immediately stung like a horde of wasps. He resisted the urge to wipe at the burning. Tears ran freely down his face, working to push out the toxins.

  Ben peered resolutely through the haze, adjusted the boy’s weight with his left arm, and pulled his firearm with his right.

  He wouldn’t put it past their madman to be waiting in the smoke.

  Then he walked steadily toward the flashing red lights of the emergency vehicles. Barely visible, they provided enough of a beacon to lead him in the right direction.

  Thirty-two

  It took every ounce of Dana’s training not to plunge into the smoke. Ben was in there. A child was in there, and she should be as well.

  Captain Covey’s hand came down on her shoulder. “My men have the fire surrounded. It’s still too hot to put water on, Dana. Maybe another five minutes.”

  She nodded once, then turned and looked him full in the face. “No one’s seen them?”

  “We’re trying to get in closer, but after the second explosion…” The big man wiped the smoke from his face with a handkerchief. “I had to pull my men back.”

  She looked back toward the house so he wouldn’t see her tears. Agents in charge did not tear up on the scene. What was wrong with her?

  Paramedics were attending to Mrs. Mifflin. She continued to scream uncontrollably, crying out for her son. Reggie sat by his mother in the ambulance, watching his home being engulfed in the black cloud of smoke. Dana felt a tug of regret as she watched the family. She should have taken them from the home earlier, taken them into the office where they would have been safe.

  The rest of Dana’s crew had the surrounding block under surveillance. Her mind insisted on replaying Clay’s message—the perp was on the property, he was near the garage, he had disappeared past the wall of flame. He had been here, and she didn’t catch him. But she would. It might be today. It might be tomorrow. Before this was over, she would catch him.

  As her thoughts flitted from concerns over Ben and Frankie to ideas for retribution, a form appeared from the west side of the house. Her heart skipped a beat, and she moved to run toward him.

  Captain Covey put a hand in front of her. “Dana, it’s still not safe.”

  She pushed past him, ran toward Ben.

  Reached him at the same moment Reggie did.

  Ben carried his firearm in one hand, which he holstered as he walked toward them, and the child in his other.

  His face w
as nearly black from smoke and dirt. Blood ran from a wound on his left shoulder, and he was limping. The curly hair she’d found so attractive had been badly singed along the back of his neck, which was a bright red and had already begun to blister.

  But it was his face that nearly did her in.

  Smudged black from the smoke, tears had streaked two trails down his cheeks. Those beautiful mocha eyes sought hers, found hers, and held. Walking through the barricade of emergency personnel, the smile she needed to see finally broke across his face.

  He grabbed Dana in a one-armed hug, the child caught between them since he refused to let go of Ben’s neck.

  “I was worried you didn’t get out in time,” he whispered into her hair.

  She stepped back and smiled up at him. “You were worried about me, Marshall? You need a mirror.”

  “You’re okay, Frankie.” Reggie moved behind Ben so he could get a better look at his brother. “You scared us, man.”

  “Iron Man saved me.” Frankie’s eyes opened wide as he stared at his brother, but he continued to cling to Ben’s neck.

  “We better take him to his mother.” Dana nodded toward the ambulance, which Mrs. Mifflin had been moved into.

  Ben walked in the direction she indicated, Reggie and Dana following close in his wake.

  “Any luck spotting him?” Ben asked her quietly.

  “Only briefly, but we’re not giving up.”

  At the sight of Frankie, Mrs. Mifflin fought her way out of the ambulance. Frankie immediately traded his newfound hero for his mother.

  If there were days Dana wondered whether her job was worth the cost, moments like these banished all doubt.

  “Mama. There was a big fire, and then Iron Man came. I jumped, and he caught me. And we flew.”

  “Frankie. Oh, thank you, Jesus. Frank, I was so scared. You scared the life out of me. I knew the Lord would save you.”

  “But Mama. Iron Man saved me. We flew, and the fire didn’t get us.”

  “You were supposed to be napping.” Mrs. Mifflin wiped at the tears on her face. Unable to put any real energy into her scolding, she clutched the boy to her. “I put you in your room. And I checked. You were asleep.”

  “I was pretending, Mama. I counted to one hundred and then I went up to the tree house. I do it every day. After the fire, I couldn’t climb back down. Then Iron Man came.”

  Reggie reached out and ruffled his brother’s hair. “Iron Man, huh? Where’s his suit?”

  “Iron Man doesn’t wear his suit all the time. And you should have seen him catch me. Fire shooting up through his feet, and he stood there, Mama. Just stood there and caught me like I was a baseball coming out of the sky.”

  Dana looked at Ben, who laughed, but looked pleased at the praise nonetheless.

  “All right, Iron Man. Let’s get a paramedic to look you and Frankie over.” Dana signaled to the two medics closest to her.

  The boy started to resist, but when he saw Ben submitting, he bravely stuck out his chin and endured.

  After checking for injuries and confirming his vitals were good, it was decided Frankie could get by with a little oxygen. As long as he could continue to watch what was happening to Ben and remain in his mother’s lap, the boy was content to breathe into the mask.

  The medic cut away Ben’s sleeve and set about cleaning the abrasions on his left arm. The skin had turned an ugly purple. Dana would have liked to think Ben was hamming it up when he hollered at the first touch of antiseptic, but the scowl on his face told her otherwise.

  Frankie didn’t see the look.

  In fact, Frankie’s peal of laughter caused his oxygen mask to slip off as he flopped back on his mother. “Iron Man doesn’t like the medicine either.”

  “He was kidding, Frankie.” His mother pushed the mask back on the boy’s face.

  “Yeah, Frankie.” Dana tapped Ben’s knee and directed her attention to the boy. “Look at Mr. Marshall, err, Iron Man now. He’s smiling while the medic takes care of him.”

  Ben clenched his jaw, but offered up a smile for Frankie. The moment would have been a lighthearted one had it not been for the madman who had escaped through the smoke and the sound of the roof caving in behind them. The house was now totally consumed by flames.

  “I can’t believe it spread to the house. This is all my fault.” Reggie slumped as he spoke, the weight of his family’s homelessness on his shoulders.

  Ben stood as the medic finished applying cream to the back of his neck. After slapping gauze on it and reminding him he’d need a haircut now, the medic moved on to check a fireman with smoke inhalation.

  Ben rubbed the top of his head as he surveyed the house, then looked back at the teen. “It’s not your fault, Reggie. Don’t take credit for what bad people do, and the man who got you into this is the very worst kind.”

  Dana watched him interact with the teen. Instead of plowing on, he waited for Reggie to raise his head and meet his gaze. The mother seemed to be coming out of shock as she continued to hold Frankie, but she, too, waited as Ben and Reggie worked through what had happened.

  “We didn’t have much,” Reggie said, “but all we had was in there. If I had never gotten involved with him, this wouldn’t have happened.”

  Ben looked at Mrs. Mifflin.

  “Reggie’s right. Everything we owned was in that house.”

  Dana pushed her hair back out of her face. “Did you own the home, Mrs. Mifflin?”

  “No. We rented it.” Her voice dropped as the enormity of the destruction in front of her seeped in. “I can’t pay for that house burning down.”

  “The owner’s insurance will pay for the structure,” Dana assured her. “I’ll have someone at my office work out the details with the owner.”

  “Where will we stay?” Reggie whispered. “It’s my fault we don’t have a home now.”

  Ben put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You made a mistake, Reg. Everyone makes them. I want you to look long and hard at the type of destruction fires can cause though.”

  Firemen encircled the perimeter of the home, spraying water onto the structure. Smoke billowed over the lot like a cloud from some ancient volcano.

  “You did not do that. The person we’re hunting did. Your mistake was in trusting someone who was deceitful. If your family can forgive you for that, you need to forgive yourself.”

  Reggie looked to his mom. The hope and need written on his face recalled such an ache in Dana’s heart, she had to turn away. When she did, Ben tugged on her arm.

  “Let’s give them a minute,” he suggested.

  As they walked a few yards away, Dana called for updates from her team. Clay had relayed the description Reggie gave of their perpetrator to the local police, but there had been no sightings of him—only the evidence he had been there. Another note, very much like the one they had found in the backpack. This one again contained one word—BURN.

  Nina was coordinating with the fire department. It would be hours before they could move into the site and search for clues. Even then, given the intensity of the blaze, the fire chief wasn’t optimistic about their chances of learning much.

  Lastly, Dana checked in with Captain at the office and confirmed all was quiet there.

  She relayed a condensed version of the information to Ben.

  “I’m worried about the family,” Dana admitted.

  “I have an idea.”

  “Why am I not surprised, Marshall?”

  He looked over to where Reggie was now encircled in his mother’s arms. “I think the father was Apache.”

  “The children certainly look as if they have some native ancestry.”

  “I want to move them to the reservation.”

  “What? Ben, you can’t—”

  “Hang on. Remember, I told you about Joe? His father still lives there. In fact, he was on the council for years.”

  Dana shook her head, her mind so filled with all the reasons his plan wouldn’t work she barely heard his next w
ords.

  “Do you really think he was trying to destroy evidence, Dana? What evidence? He doesn’t leave any on the notes, and I doubt he left any in that garage. He somehow knew Reggie was talking to us, and he decided to kill him. The Jicarilla Apache Indian Reservation might be the only place the family will be safe. It might be the one place that this maniac can’t reach them.”

  Thirty-three

  Ben drove the department’s Humvee north on Highway 522 toward the town of Costilla on the Colorado border. Red sat next to him, Glock loaded, ready, and looking like a play toy in the big man’s hands.

  Behind them, Frankie perched on the middle seat. It was a good thing his seatbelt held him in place, because the boy fairly vibrated with excitement. His face glowed. He looked right, then left, then right, then left. But as warned he said nothing. He was caught up in the throes of his dark hero’s story.

  Perhaps it was good that to the four-year-old the night’s dangers were happening to Iron Man and not to him. Maybe it was his young mind’s way of coping, or so Ben thought as he glanced back and smiled at the kid. Frankie remained convinced his life had, in fact, become a comic book story.

  Mrs. Mifflin had readily agreed with relocating to the reservation. Mifflin was actually her maiden name. The boys’ father had been raised on the reservation, but ran away at fourteen and never returned.

  “You’re sure Mr. Tafoya said we’d be welcome?” She leaned forward and peered through the darkness at Ben.

  “The Apache take care of their own, Mrs. Mifflin.” Ben met her gaze in the rearview mirror. “He’ll be waiting for us.”

  She nodded once and leaned back against the seat. “Stop playing with that, Tommy.”

  “Mama, I wasn’t hurting nothing.” The nine-year-old’s voice was a whisper as he pushed the buttons on the rear, video monitor.