James Swain - Bad News Travels

“Dad wouldn’t have done that. He wasn’t a liar.”

“Why don’t we call your niece, and settle it?”

He had boxed her into a corner, and he saw a flame in her eyes. Beth yanked her cell phone out of her purse, and placed a call to her niece. She put her cell phone on speaker so they would be both able to hear the conversation.

“I’ll bet you dinner I’m right,” she said.

“Only if I can pick the restaurant,” he replied.

“You’re wrong about this, Jon.”

Lancaster wanted to be wrong, but the evidence said otherwise. Nicki answered in a terrified whisper.

“Aunt Beth. You need to come back,” the teenager said.

“What’s wrong, Nicki?” Daniels asked.

“There are two men inside the house trying to hurt us.”

“ What? Who are they?”

“I don’t know. They have ski masks on.”

“Are you in a safe place?”

“Yes. I’m hiding in the panic room with my parents.”

“What panic room?”

“The one Grandpa built behind the kitchen pantry.”

Melanie came on the line. “Hurry, Beth! They have guns.”

“Did you call 911?”

“Yes. An automated answering service put me on hold.”

“Hold tight — we’re coming.”

Lancaster pulled out of the Starbucks with his tires screaming. Saint Augustine was a sleepy town, and he guessed the number of home invasions that took place during broad daylight was probably zero. He thought back to the pair of Russian thugs parked outside the church, and wished he’d done a better job putting the fear of God into them.

“Why would your father build a panic room?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Beth said.

Daniels wanted to kick herself. Jon had picked up on the threat that the Russians parked outside the church had posed, and she’d ignored his warning. Being an FBI agent made her deal with facts, and as a result, she’d tuned out her intuition. That was a mistake, and now she was paying the price.

Jon drove at breakneck speed down her father’s street with the car’s emergency lights flashing. A half block from the house, he pulled into a neighbor’s driveway and parked. The neighbor was watering the yard and shot them a frightened look.

They jumped out and drew their sidearms. Daniels flashed her badge and told the neighbor there was a burglary taking place down the street, and to please call the police. The neighbor dropped the hose on the grass and ran inside.

There wasn’t a sidewalk, and they trotted down the middle of the street toward her father’s home. Her breathing was accelerated, and she could feel the world speeding up. Jon had been in a lot more of these situations, and she decided to follow his lead.

“Plan of attack?”

“We need to split up. I’ll take the front door, you go around back, and come through the kitchen door. It should be unlocked.”

“Got it.”

Jon came to a sudden halt. He lifted his arms and pointed his weapon straight ahead as if aiming at an imaginary target. They were a hundred feet from the house, their view of the driveway blocked by the neighbor’s wall of bushes.

Daniels stopped as well. She heard the faint rumble of a running engine.

“Is that them?” she asked.

“I think so,” he said.

The Charger flew in reverse down her father’s driveway, then turned in the street so it faced them. Its back end jumped, and it sprang forward like a sprinter coming out of the blocks. They were about to be run over, and she aimed at the darkened windshield.

Jon grabbed her by the shoulders, and lifted her clean off the pavement. He was deceptively strong, and he carried her off the street and straight into the bushes, his momentum allowing them to crash through.

They landed in a well-kept yard. A Jack Russell terrier charged them, voicing its disapproval. On the street, the Charger screamed past with its horn blaring, the driver taunting them. Daniels promised herself that she would pay them back for this.

She picked herself up off the ground and took a quick accounting of herself. Her clothes had been torn by the sharp branches, and she had dirt in her mouth. Jon stood beside her, his face cut in several places, the blood flowing freely.

“That was a bad idea, Beth,” he said.

“Sorry. I wasn’t thinking,” she said. “You’re hurt.”

“Flesh wounds. Did you run a trace on the license earlier?” he asked.

“No, but I will. Let’s go check on Melanie’s family.”

They crashed back through the bushes and ran down the street. The front door of the house was open, and they went inside and did a quick check downstairs. All clear.

“The rooms haven’t been touched,” she said. “What do you think they wanted?”

“I don’t know. I’m going to have a look upstairs,” Lancaster said. “Give a shout if you need me.”

He vanished up the stairwell. Daniels moved to the rear of the house and entered the kitchen. Nothing had been touched there, either, and it made her wonder what the Russians’ motive had been. She started to knock on the pantry wall to let Melanie know that it was safe to come out, but remembered that her sister had a concealed weapon permit, and might shoot through the wall if she thought they were in danger.

Daniels called her sister on her cell phone instead. “I’m here in the kitchen. They’re gone. You can come out.”

“Thank God,” Melanie said.

Daniels ended the connection. The kitchen had a small butler’s pantry, with opposing shelves containing canned goods and spices. The back wall swung in, and Melanie, Nicki, and Nolan emerged, looking scared out of their wits.

Daniels put her weapon down on the counter and hugged each of them. Melanie pulled a twig out of her sister’s hair, and they both started to cry.

“I’ve never been so scared in my life,” Melanie said.

Nolan took a seat at the breakfast nook. His shirt was soaked with sweat, and he was breathing through his mouth.

“Are you going to be okay, Nolan?” Daniels asked.

“I just need to catch my breath,” he said. “Your father didn’t get around to installing air conditioning in that room. It must have been a hundred degrees.”

“Did you get a look at them, Aunt Beth?” Nicki asked.

“I saw their car. It was the guys parked outside the church,” Daniels said.

“I told you so,” Nicki said to her parents.

“We have the license plate, so it shouldn’t be too difficult to track them down,” Daniels said. To her sister, she said, “When did Dad build a panic room?”

“Three months ago. I thought he told you.”

“I had no idea. Did he say why?”

“Nope. He just went and did it.”

To her niece, she said, “Nicki, do you remember asking your grandfather to buy a smartphone recently?”

“It wasn’t me,” Nicki said.

Her father had lied to her about why he’d purchased a smartphone, and had also built a panic room without bothering to tell her. Was it a coincidence, or were the two things connected?

Daniels entered the pantry and stuck her head into the room. Small and without windows, it had walls reinforced with sheets of steel. The door was also made of steel and several inches thick, with a deadbolt and a dozen hinge screws to resist battering. Her father had never mentioned any burglaries in the neighborhood, and she wondered why he hadn’t installed a security system if he was afraid of a break-in.

Nicki tugged on her sleeve. “Jon’s calling you.”

Daniels returned to the front of the house and stood at the bottom of the stairwell. Jon stood at the top, holding his weapon at his side. He looked worried, which was not like him. She started upstairs, and her niece followed.