“Oh my God!” I blurt. I don’t know whether to laugh, cry, or just freaking slap him. This is his fault. He put us in this predicament. He and his fucking idiotic sense of charity putmy childin danger. If anything happens to Austin because of him… I can’t even think about it.
For a second, our eyes lock.
“Arielle…” he begins, then stops. There’s no need to say what’s on my mind. His expression tells me he knows it, too. He raises a hand towards me, then drops it when I stiffen. I’m still cradling Austin against me, although with Sam standing right in front of us, Austin is suddenly less pliant; I sense he wants to go to Sam, but there’s no way I’m having that. The silence stretches out for seconds until Tim’s voice intrudes.
“I hate to break this up, folks, but we have…a situation on our hands,” he says. There’s no hint of the malice I’d expected he’d display if he ever saw Sam and me together. Although I’m pretty sure that has more to do with the armed men surrounding my house right now than any sort of chivalrous behavior.
Another crash sounds from Austin’s room, followed by muffled voices. They’re making their move. Tim spins quickly towards the door, slams it shut and turns the key in the lock.
“Need to think fast…that’s not going to hold them for long,” he’s talking to Sam, who nods. More voices are coming from around the house. There’s no effort to hide their presence anymore.
“Who’s out there? What’s going on?” I demand. I guess the questions seem irrelevant in the face of imminent danger, but if I’m about to be attacked, I’d at least like to know who has it in for me.
“It’s Buford…Gregory Buford,” Sam says, his voice low. “He’s the man I…stole the diamond from.”
“And he wants it back?” I ask, eyes wide. Of course he does…even criminals hate having their lives invaded…their belongings taken. Sam nods. “Then give it to him! For God’s sake, why is this even an issue?”
“Because it’s gone,” he replies. “I gave it to a kid.”
My eyes widen in disbelief. The words seem like the most stupid thing I ever heard. The diamond I saw in his hand was the biggest I’d ever seen. It must have been worth millions. But there’s no time to go into it now. Buford’s men are not messing around. He’s not even remotely concerned that there’s a police officer inside. I heard Tim announce himself…I could make out the muffled conversation as they spoke. The man’s above the law. He’s not going to back down.
And Sam led him right to me.
Chapter 7
Slipped Away
Samuel Foster
I’m watching the expressions flickering across Arielle’s face, and I know she hates me right now. Who could blame her? I’ve put her into the worst predicament she’s ever been in.
Austin is making a low mewling noise against her chest, where she’s holding him firmly. I sense that any minute now, he’s going to act out. I can barely believe he’s been so compliant until now.
She opens her mouth to say something, and I’m fairly sure it’s not going to be pretty. But now Austin’s mewls have risen to wails, and he’s shoving himself away from her. Before she can stop him, he’s broken free and is shooting towards me, his arms around my waist. Without thinking, I drop a hand to his hair, stroking the unruly mop. I look up at Arielle, helplessly, knowing she’s probably hating me for this display of affection from her son. I’ve done nothing to deserve it. Quite the opposite, actually. I don’t deserve anything good from these people. I deserve to be punished. I deserve the very worst.
There’s another thump from outside and breaking glass, and then heavy battering at the door. Tim is spinning his head from side to side. I can see his mind frantically working.
“We need to get them out of here,” I say, my voice low and urgent. I hear Arielle say something from beside me, but my attention is on the man in front of me. I’ve spent my life mired in crime, while he’s an officer of the law. It seems ironic that we’re suddenly pooling our resources, but the enemy outside the door is bigger than our personal issues. He nods, then turns to Arielle.
“Go pack a bag. Just enough for a couple of nights for you and Austin,” he says, his expression grim.
“But—” she begins. She’s staring around, her eyes roving over her home. The furnishings, photos…there are memories here. It occurs to me now how selfish I was when I asked her to leave with me. I had no idea what I was asking her to leave behind. A whole lifetime of friends and family connections. How could I know what that would feel like? I’ve never truly had anything like it. My relationship with Atticus was the closest thing I ever had to family or friendship, and at best that was unconventional.
“Arielle!” Tim says sharply, and she blinks, and then nods, as if pulled from some past world, of lives and loves lost…of remembering. Then she looks down at where Austin is still clinging to me. There’s resentment in her expression, but we don’t have time to discuss it now.
“It’s alright,” I say as soothingly as I can. “I’ve got him.”
Reluctantly, she turns and heads to what I assume is her bedroom. She leaves the lights off and slips in silently, clearly aware that there are probably men at every window. Buford’s definitely got something up his sleeve. But in the long minutes since our conversation, neither Tim nor I have been able to figure out what that is just yet.
Fortunately, while I’ve been soul searching about all my personal issues, Tim’s been coming up with a plan. The light of his cellphone is still shining as he shoves the thing in his back pocket.
“I’ve called in for backup,” he says, and I breathe a sigh of relief. “They’ll be here any minute.” I’m about to reply when Buford’s gravel voice interrupts.
“I’ve thought about it, Cop,” he says abrasively. “And I’m thinking ‘no deal’. I want what’s mine. And I’ll get it. Maybe not now. But someday soon. I’m coming for my pound of flesh…and I’ll take it from Colt’s stinking hide if I have to.”
Tim is staring at me as Buford’s voice trails off. I’m still stroking a hand over Austin’s head and I don’t know if I’m doing it to soothe him or myself, but it seems to be keeping us both fairly calm. Then there’s a crash from behind us, and another crash from the living room…then the smell of smoke and gasoline.
We both spin in the direction of the sound, and I feel my gut churning. A crudely formed explosive device has been flung through the window…I guess I’d call it a Molotov cocktail? Flames have licked up from the carpet and now the drapes are on fire.
