The Ex Who Glowed In The Dark Part 16

"Rescue the boy? We're not even certain he's here! What if he isn't? How are we going to make them tell us where he is? Are you going to threaten them with a cold chill if they don't tell? Even if he is here, what chance do we have? There are three of them and two of us." Had she really included Charley? "Three of them, and they're murderers."

"Fine. Be a coward."

"I'm trying to be smart. If Grant isn't here, Jake and Ross will be able to make those people tell where they're holding him. If he is here, they can rescue him." Amanda made a U-turn and started back the way she'd come, going as fast as she dared on the dusty road.

A hundred feet down that road her engine sputtered and died.

Out of gas.

d.a.m.n, d.a.m.n, d.a.m.n!

She parked the bike, took off her helmet and turned to face Charley. Though she couldn't see her own face, she was pretty sure she was about as pale as he was at that moment. She licked her dry lips. "I guess we're on our own."

"No problem. We can handle it."

Yeah, an unarmed woman and a ghost. They made quite the rescue team. But the only other option was to walk away and abandon any possibility of finding Grant. In the time it would take them to walk back five or six miles to where they could get cell phone reception, call for help, wait for that help to arrive, then return to the house, anything could happen.

"First we need to find out if he's here. If he's not, we need to find out where they've got him." She couldn't think about what they'd do when they found Grant. One crisis at a time. She looked down the road. Most of the dust had settled. "We'll have to sneak up on them from behind. If we go stalking down the road, they'll spot us. Well, they'll spot me."

Amanda moved the bike off the road and parked it behind a tree. About as well concealed as a fire engine behind a stop sign, but it was the best she could do. She put her purse, helmet, jacket and gloves behind a big rock and started off across the stubbled field.

"You sure make a lot of noise in those boots," Charley complained as Amanda's steps crunched through the dry gra.s.s and weeds.

"Jealous? Wish you could wear motorcycle boots and make noise?"

He went along silently after that.

"Are we still going in the right direction?" Amanda asked after what seemed an eternity of trekking over the uneven ground in the hot sun.

Charley shot upward, looked around, then came back. "Yep. Just keep going and you'll come up behind the house."

In death Charley was much more helpful than he'd ever been in life. But she refrained from saying so. Maybe later.

She continued to trudge across the field.

A blue jay flew overhead and emitted his shrill call of summer sun and heat but somehow the call seemed threatening.

Finally up ahead she saw the back of the weathered house with several rusty farm implements lying around half-hidden among the tall weeds. The st.u.r.dy motorcycle boots might not be the best thing for hiking across fields, but they'd probably save her from some nasty cuts going through that minefield of weeds and metal.

"Go look," she whispered to Charley as soon as they were close enough. "See if Grant's in there."

He disappeared into the structure while Amanda squatted in the weeds behind an old plow, about as effectively hidden as her motorcycle.

Charley came back almost immediately. "Brendan and the two people from the van are in there, but Grant isn't."

Amanda's heart sank. "That means they've either left him somewhere else or he's on the property but not in the house."

"It could also mean they've already-"

"No, they haven't," Amanda snapped. She could not face that third possibility. "Grant's still alive and we're going to find him." She looked around. A ramshackle barn sat a couple of hundred feet away. Two sheds and a mound of earth that indicated a storm cellar were closer to the house. "I'll check the sheds and you check the barn. It's farther away and you're faster."

"I can do that. And I'm making a note that you admitted I'm faster than you."

"Fine. You're also deader than me. Go!"

Keeping as close to the ground as possible, Amanda crept to the nearest shed. Long summer evenings were wonderful, but she could have used some early darkness to hide her movements.

Something snagged the leg of her jeans and she whirled around, adrenalin pumping, ready to die or do battle or both.

A jagged piece of metal from one of the rusted implements had caught in the denim. She reached down and tugged it away, but it gave her an idea. She could at least arm herself with something sharp.

She found a broken piece of pipe an inch in diameter and a couple of feet long. It was better than nothing.

As she crept closer on legs that felt like overcooked spaghetti, she made an effort to be quiet. That effort included not screaming when she b.u.mped her shin on another piece of machinery hidden in the weeds.

The door to the shed was closed with a sliding bolt but didn't seem to be locked. She pressed close to the wall and slid the bolt slowly open, flinching with every crunch it made as she forced it past the rust.

When she finally got the door open a crack, she peered in and saw shelves holding an a.s.sortment of ancient tools. Not surprising there was nothing else. That bolt hadn't been moved for a long time.

She backed out and turned to go to the other shed.

Charley settled to the earth beside her. "What have you got in your hand? That doesn't look very clean. Your mother would freak out if she saw you carrying that. Put it down."

Amanda shook the piece of pipe at him. "This is the best I can do for a weapon."

Charley flinched backward as if she might really be able to hit him. "Great weapon. Give somebody a case of teta.n.u.s."

"Unless you've got a better suggestion, it'll have to do right now. Was Grant in the barn?"

"No."

"He's not in here either. I'll check the other shed and you check the cellar."

Charley cringed. "Not the cellar. You know I have claustrophobia."

Amanda looked at him in amazement. The sunlight bounced off his blond hair and highlighted his blue eyes, just as in life. And just as in life, he whined.

"Claustrophobia?" she repeated. "Really? The walls closing in on you? Make you feel like you can't breathe?"

He nodded.

"You can go through the walls, and you're not breathing anyway." She hesitated, not completely certain about the latter. "You're not breathing, are you?"

Charley considered the question for a moment then shook his head. "I don't think so."

"Then go check the cellar." She turned toward the second shed, remembering at the last moment to crouch and be stealthy.

The second shed held a push lawn mower-obviously not used for a very long time-and various rusted yard implements, but no small boy.

Charley darted back to her side. If they hadn't just established that he didn't breathe, she'd have sworn he was breathless. "Grant's tied up in the cellar!"

Relief washed over Amanda. They'd found him. "So he's still alive?"

"Yes. He's alive, but Dawson's in there with him and I can't tell if he's alive or not."

Chapter Sixteen.

"Dawson?" Amanda remembered the bundle she'd seen the two men taking from the car, the one she'd thought might be a body. Dawson? "What do you mean you don't know if he's alive? Is he breathing? Did you see his ghost?"

"He's tied up in a chair, but he's all slumped over. I didn't stay long enough to tell if he's breathing. No, I didn't see his ghost. That's a creepy question."

Amanda had to believe that meant Dawson was still alive. She couldn't accept anything else. But any chance she could leave to summon help had been taken away. They had to get Dawson and Grant out immediately then somehow get help for Dawson if he was hurt.

She looked at her watch. "It's five thirty. The deadline is six o'clock. They should be leaving here soon to check the locker and see if Dawson dropped off the thumb drive." She lifted a hand to her mouth in horror. "What am I saying? Dawson can't drop off anything if he's here!"

"Oh. Good point."

"Go back in the house and see if you can find out what's going on."

He disappeared into the house and she moved closer to the weed-covered mound as if by that effort she could somehow make contact with the captives. The wooden door that slanted along one side was rough and old, but it was solid. It would not be easy to lift.

Several moments later Charley appeared at her side. "The good news is, Dawson must still be alive. The bad news is, I know that because they're talking about killing him and Grant now."

"Now?" The word caught in Amanda's throat. "They're going to kill them now? It's only five-thirty! They gave us until six!" She knew she was being illogical. Dawson wasn't going to be delivering anything so all bets were off, but she couldn't take it in. Her friend couldn't be killed. His brother who slept with the one-eared stuffed dog couldn't be killed. Somehow she had to stop that from happening.

"Brendan knows Dawson doesn't have the program," Charley continued. "Apparently he went back to Dawson's apartment after everybody left and drugged him then he brought Dawson and all those computers out here. These people are computer nerds. They talk like Dawson does, all those funny words. They're trying to find the program, but they don't know for sure it's even on one of the computers. They're not happy, and they're arguing about what they should do with Dawson and Grant. Brendan thinks they should make one more effort to see if either of the boys can find the program, but the woman wants to kill them immediately."

Amanda shook her head in denial. "That just can't be right! It's not six o'clock yet!"

"Really? People who commit murder and kidnapping fail to keep their word, and that surprises you?"

Amanda opened her mouth to remind him how often he'd failed to keep his word and how often she'd been surprised at those betrayals, then decided recriminations could wait until Dawson and Grant were safe. "What do we do now?"

Charley shrugged. "Rush in and rescue the boys?"

"Right. Any idea how we go about that?"

"You rush in and rescue them, and I'll keep watch."

"Good plan." Amanda intended for her comment to sound sarcastic, but Charley was right. It came down to something that simple. She had no other choice.

Clenching the piece of pipe that suddenly seemed very small, she made an effort to swallow her fear. "Okay." The word came out a whisper. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Okay. Let's do it."

"If those people start to come out of the house, I'll whistle."

"How about you just come tell me?"

"That would work too." Charley disappeared into the house again and Amanda crept toward the cellar.

It was uncomfortably close to the back door, which, of course, made sense. If the family who'd built the place had to dash through strong winds and heavy rain to get to shelter, they needed it close. But that meant anybody who looked out the window would be able to see her creeping through the weeds.

She reached the door and laid down the pipe so she could grasp the rusted metal handle with both hands. Heart pounding, stomach clenched into a knot, she pulled upward. At first nothing happened.

Where was that adrenalin rush people were supposed to get in emergencies that enabled them able to lift cars and carry a person under each arm from a burning building?

She tugged harder and the door began to rise. When this was over, she was going to take up weight lifting. Finally she got the door open and lowered it to the side as quietly as possible.

Grabbing the piece of pipe, she started down the steps into the musty interior then stopped when her eyes adjusted to the gloom. The rock wall in the back was lined with shelves holding a lot of dust and Mason jars filled with unidentifiable contents, some of which were oozing over the sides.

Two people sat in front of that wall.

The boy she'd seen in the picture the kidnappers sent looked toward her, blinking in the sudden burst of sunlight from the open door. He was tied in a ladder-back wooden chair. He'd aged since the day before. His young face was gaunt and his eyes were filled with pain and terror. Amanda's heart clenched. n.o.body so young should have to go through something like that.

Dawson slouched in a similar chair, also tied with a rope, his hands behind him. He must be still alive or they wouldn't have tied him up.

Anger at the people who did this emboldened her. She hurried down the remaining few steps. "Are you Grant?"

He nodded, the movement jerky.

"Are you okay?"

Another nod.

"Is Dawson...okay?"

Grant looked at his brother and shivered. "I think so. They drugged him. That man, Scott, he pretended to be his friend and then he drugged him. They're going to kill both of us."

Scott? Was he talking about Brendan? n.o.body else had pretended to be Dawson's friend.

She didn't have time to think about that at the moment. "No, they won't kill you. I won't let them."

Grant made a weak effort to smile. "You're Amanda, aren't you? I knew you'd come. Dawson always said you were his friend and you could do anything."

A surge of happiness that Dawson considered her a friend washed over Amanda at the same time her heart dropped to her stomach because she had no idea what she could do to save them.

Nevertheless she firmed her jaw. She wasn't going to let Dawson or this small boy down.

Grant was tied with rope a little thicker than clothesline and very difficult to untie. Amanda had a knife...in the pocket of her jacket which was back with her motorcycle. Lot of good it did her now. She laid her pipe on the floor and, with fingers that trembled, she fumbled with the knots that looped around Grant's body and restrained his wrists. The boy held his small hands still, helping her as much as he could. She fervently hoped she'd have the chance to hurt the people who did this before it was over.

Charley darted in. "Hurry. They're getting ready to come down here, and the woman's got a gun."

"I need a few more minutes. Distract them."