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

told him that if they pushed Johns that way, he’d push back.  He was probably planning to push back.  His lack of willingness to negotiate up to this point suggested that he had no interest in playing give and take.  Some personality types – like, dear God, the man they’d cornered in Topeka – refused to accept any part in a production over which they didn’t exert absolute control.  Left with no options or meaningful choices, he’d be desperate to end this on his own terms.

And Clay feared that was what they were dealing with.

This man would probably prefer to go down in a design of his own making than allow himself to be taken by the authorities.

Most likely taking Max with him.

Unless Clay could find that one significant factor that would somehow tip the balance in their favor.  But what then?  Could he persuade Beall to even listen?

Clay breathed, a ragged intake of humid air.

Thought of that purple bear.

And prayed to God Max lived to call him Daddy.

JR went about his business as quietly as he could.  He was sure those assholes had listening devices aimed in his direction.  He’d studied up on enough law enforcement techniques to know that was SOP.  And he also knew exactly what they were hoping to accomplish with that piece of shit negotiator and his bullhorn.

Just talk to me, the idiot said.  Let me know what you need.  I want to help you resolve this.

What a bunch of crap.  What that cop wanted was for him to spend the rest of his life looking at the world through a set of iron bars.

He was not going to end up in prison.

He wrenched the old-fashioned stove sideways, turning the valve so that gas leaked into the air.  JR figured he had maybe thirty minutes before the goons out there got antsy enough to come after him.  Now if he were negotiating, that could go on for hours.  But by refusing to talk, he’d speed this farce up and get it over with.

He pulled himself out from his awkward crouch behind the stove, rubbed the dirt and grease he’d accumulated onto his pants.  Thirty minutes was plenty to turn this place into a time bomb.  Enough gas would build up that one spark – one shot from a weapon – would send the entire place up in flames, taking everyone nearby with it.

It wasn’t exactly the way he’d planned for things to turn out, but he figured it would do in a pinch.  He’d lose the girl and he’d lose the kid, but hey, watching Tate and her FBI prick pick pieces of the kid off the surrounding vegetation had to be good for a laugh or two.

He wondered where Tate was right now.

He’d tried to catch a glimpse of her from one of the upstairs windows, but he knew there were snipers around and hanging out where they could pick him off was not such a hot idea.  Still, he really hoped she was here to see this.  Her boyfriend probably had her stashed somewhere, sitting safe and comfortable in an air conditioned police car, waiting to tell her that he’d saved her precious son.

Hah.  He’d like to be a fly on the wall for that little conversation, after good old grandma Alma’s farmhouse went sky high.

But he knew better than to risk sticking around.  If nothing else, this little fiasco had reminded him that it didn’t pay to get cocky and take chances.  A smart man knew when to cut his losses and walk away.

And JR was nothing if not smart.

Satisfied with his handiwork, he turned to leave the kitchen, heading toward the door to the cellar.  Good thing he’d gone exploring during that one summer he’d actually been invited to visit.  If he hadn’t, he never would have known about the old tunnel that ran under the house.  Some kind of leftover hidey hole from Prohibition, his grandma had informed him.  After she’d whooped his hide for getting into places he didn’t belong.

He paused at the head of the stairs, reconsidering his decision about leaving the boy.  He’d actually been looking forward to the idea of keeping him…

But no.  That was a liability he didn’t need.  It was going to be challenging enough to get out of here himself, to disappear and fade into the background, without trying to drag a kid with him.

Dismissing all that he was leaving behind, JR turned and headed toward freedom.

CASEY was growing tired of waiting.  It had been a long while since the blond man locked them in, and she hadn’t seen or heard him since.

Was he waiting outside the door, listening for her to make a noise?

Was he downstairs, hiding from the police?

She knew he wasn’t talking to them because she could hear bits and pieces of what the man with the bullhorn was saying.  But what was taking so long?  Why didn’t they just come in and get her?

She shivered, despite the heat that filled the small bathroom in steamy waves.  With the door closed, no air moved in the tight space, and Casey was beginning to feel both light-headed and nauseous.  There was a funny smell to the stagnant air.

Something tightened in her gut.  She felt herself sliding into panic.

She had to get out. Had to.  Maybe the policemen outside didn’t even know she was here.  Maybe the blond man would just give up, go with them, and then they’d all go away, never realizing she’d been left.

Maybe the blond man would shoot her and the little boy before he gave himself up.

Oh God, she had to get out of here.

Casey used her free hand to push her sweat-dampened hair off her face, shifting the little boy back onto the floor.  Poor kid. She guessed he was lucky that he was drugged.

He didn’t have to worry about the fact that he was probably going to die.

No.  Casey refused to let that happen.  She refused to be this close to ending this