Forbidden (Southern Comfort) by O'Neill, Clark (free ebook reader txt) 📗

agents descended in a flurry of dark-tinted vehicles while a mixture of sheriff’s deputies and Charleston PD tried to maintain some kind of perimeter. Gossip in small towns traveled faster than wildfire, and the curious were already flocking.  A hostage negotiator with the Charleston PD was trying to find out if there was a land line so that he could establish communication, as the name of the game was to keep the offender as calm as possible, and bullhorns were not the way to go.

Nor, of course, was busting down the door, which was what the remaining sheriff’s deputies were advocating.  They had two men down – one badly wounded, one maybe dead – and were on an adrenaline rush of anger and retribution.  Tempers were heated, emotions close to the surface, the whole situation a ticking bomb.  The man inside the house had created an incredibly dangerous situation for himself, because now he was not only a child abductor but a cop killer.

Every law enforcement official present wanted him dead.

None of them more than Clay.

But first they had to get Max out safely.

He and Kim parked alongside the road, arriving in time to see several members of the SWAT team gearing up to pull the downed deputies out.  Aside from body armor and riot shields, they had the backup support of their snipers.  So far Rob Johns, or whoever the hell he was, had made no further attempts to fire his weapon.  There was speculation that he had a limited amount of ammo, but everyone knew it was foolish to make assumptions.

Well, almost everyone.  Apparently the deputy who’d gone after Harding hadn’t thought the whole thing through.

Locating Kathleen in the throng, Clay pushed past some Charleston PD officers who asked him for ID, leaving Kim to flash her badge and smooth things over.  He simply didn’t have the wherewithal to tolerate needless distractions.

A short man – early forties, with ruthlessly tamed dark hair and an FBI raid jacket over a very expensively tailored suit – looked up at Kathleen, exuding irritation.

“Your opinion is of no consequence.  You should not be on this case, let alone part of the decision making process,” Clay heard the man say.  “There’s no way for you to maintain your objectivity, Detective.”

“Look,” Kathleen was going toe to toe, refusing to back down at all.  She obviously had her Irish up, a condition that Clay recognized from working with Kim.  “My cousin’s little boy is in that house –”

“Exactly my point.” The agent talked right over her protests.  “You assume you have a family member in imminent peril, which makes your judgment questionable at best.  I’d like to remind you that we have no viable proof the child is in there, and yet you’ve created an atmosphere of extreme urgency which has caused a local uniform to get himself shot.”

Kathleen’s fair skin turned red at the unjustified accusation.  Clay knew this man’s type, knew exactly what he was up to, and given the asshole factor concluded he was the man Kim had spoken of earlier.  The fact that an officer had been shot – two officers, in fact – meant that the ugliness quotient had ratcheted up to damaging levels.  Anytime a law enforcement official or innocent bystander was wounded or killed in the course of a tactical situation, everyone’s first and immediate question was who screwed up? 

Clearly, this man – Special Agent in Charge Beall – was already pointing fingers to pass the blame.

“Detective Murphy hasn’t done anything in her handling of the situation that wasn’t carried out with the utmost professionalism, and she has proceeded as both her lieutenant and I have instructed.”

The older man frowned at Clay as he spoke.  “And who the hell are you?”

“Agent Clay Copeland.  I’m with the Investigative Support Unit.”  He reached into his pocket, produced ID.  “I’ve been working with the Bentonville sheriff’s department on their investigation, which has spilled over into Detective Murphy’s kidnapping.”

No way was he going to give this guy any indication that he had a personal interest in the case.  He was just the kind of man to use that against Clay, to ignore every piece of advice he had to offer.  And technically, the man was the highest ranking official on the scene, so like it or not that put him in charge.

“So you believe Detective Murphy’s assertion that the boy’s in there and still alive?  That we need to approach this as if it were a hostage situation?”

“Yes, I do.”

Beall motioned to the van behind him, which held a boatload of taxpayer dollars in the form of expensive equipment.  “We have a parabolic microphone that suggests otherwise.  Other than the sound of our gunman moving around, we’ve been unable to detect any signs of a hostage.  How do we know this isn’t simply some old farmer who thinks he’s defending his property?  It would have been prudent to follow protocol and make your presence known from the outset.  This situation might have turned out peacefully.”

Clay took a breath and tried to hold onto his patience.  “You haven’t heard any sounds of anyone else in the house, because in all likelihood he has the child drugged.  And I believe Agent O’Connell already filled you in on the situation, and the fact that Deputy Harding was shot during a routine canvass as part of his department’s investigation.  This residence is supposed to be empty.  Both the farm and the truck that we positively identified as the getaway vehicle for the abduction – and which is currently parked in the barn, I might add – are the property of an elderly woman who supposedly now resides in Atlanta.”

“With a grandson,” Kathleen interjected.  “Who we’re currently checking out.”

Beall sent the detective a glare, and Clay continued as if he hadn’t noticed.  “We have reason to believe that the man inside the house assumed the elderly woman – Alma Walker’s – identity as part of his plan to kidnap the child.  We have reason to believe