Flames from Ashes Page 20

  “The kids?” Clint asked.

  “He’ll tell them,” she replied.

  Tommy closed the distance between them. “Let’s get you home.” He patted Clint’s knee.

  Another breath rippled through Clint’s body. He nodded and scooped up the pile of spent tissues. “What time is it? I want to catch the local news.”

  Tommy checked his phone. “Almost six. I’ll turn the radio back on.”

  He stood and extended his hand to Clint. Clint grabbed it, and when he stood, the two embraced. While they hugged it out, Sandy turned on the shop radio.

  “Breaking news…

  “This radio station has just learned that Valley View mayor, Martin Hall, was arrested for the murder of his daughter, Marjorie Hall Clifford. The body of Marjorie Clifford and that of her newborn son were recently discovered in the refrigerator cooler of the abandoned Edge of Town general store, located on the Clifford family homestead. Sheriff’s deputies report she suffered blunt force trauma to the head that resulted in her death. Evidence found at the scene pointed directly to Mayor Hall.

  “Marjorie Clifford disappeared five years ago last spring. A recent investigation of shots fired at the Clifford homestead resulted in the discovery of the bodies, which had been sealed inside the refrigerator cooler. Hall will be arraigned tomorrow morning in Superior Court. More information will be provided as the investigation continues to unfold.”

  “All this time.” Clint stared into space, slowly shaking his head. “The bastard. Why? What was he doing out there?”

  “Something illegal if it was enough to kill her.” Tommy snorted.

  “At our property?” Clint splayed his fingers against his chest.

  “Maybe it was a meet spot for him,” Tommy suggested. “It’s somewhat isolated, even if Chuck and Annie were living on the homestead at that time. You can’t see who parks in front of the store from the house.”

  “If someone was parked there, would Marjorie have stopped?” Clint asked.

  “Why wouldn’t she? What would she have to fear from her father?” Sandy said. “She was there to retrieve her bracelet. It was no big deal. She may have wondered why he was there, but that would be all.”

  Clint blew out a breath and burrowed both hands through his hair. “I’m going to that arraignment.”

  “So you can lose your temper?” Sandy shook her head. “I’ll go. Or you could ask your attorney.”

  “You, please. Thank you. Shit.” Clint pulled his phone from his back pocket. “I sure as hell don’t need a divorce anymore. Maybe I can stop him.”

  “I’m sure he knows.” Sandy pushed his arm down. “If he’s filed, what does it really matter?”

  “Yeah, you’re right.” He put the phone away.

  “Let’s go home.” Tommy curled his hand over Clint’s shoulder. “Dinner’s on me. I can stop for something, or we can call it in.”

  “I don’t think I could eat anything.”

  Sandy had to concur. Nothing was going in her stomach. Well, it might go in, but it wouldn’t stay there.

  “I want to go out to the homestead. I need to see where they’ve been.”

  Sandy didn’t like it, but she understood the need.

  “All right,” Tommy said. “We’ll go out together, but if the scene’s taped off, we’re not crossing the line. We don’t want to do anything to compromise this investigation. Agreed?”

  Clint nodded. “Agreed. Let’s go.”

  Sandy retrieved her things from the office and returned to find them standing by the door. “The sun will be down by the time we get there. Do the two of you have flashlights?”

  Clint laughed lightly and drew her against him. “For once we’re prepared.”

  “I’ll get one from my car. Do you need me to drive?” Tommy asked.

  “I can manage. I have to do something.” Clint swung open the door, keeping Sandy close as they walked to his truck. Once there, he opened the door, then leaned down to kiss her. “Oh, bright eyes,” he said with a sigh. “You can do so much better than me.”

  Sandy wrapped her arms around his neck. “There is no one better than you.” She kissed him, then crawled into the passenger seat, leaving Tommy to take the back.

  Nothing was said during the drive. She knew they’d be trying to piece together what had happened, what could have been so heinous that Martin Hall could kill his daughter, hide her body, and get rid of the car. That was a lot of activity to occur on an occupied homestead. While Chuck and Annie might not have been able to see vehicles parked in front of the store, activity like that would have taken a while. They should have noticed something, especially considering Annie had at least one kid to get to school. No, it was spring break. No school. It didn’t matter. In Sandy’s mind, they were involved. She knew it.

  Should she say something? Maybe Clint and Tommy had already made that connection. By what right did Sandy have to make accusations? The burner-phone incident alone is justification. Annie’s motivation was an age-old resentment. She’d made it clear she was dedicated to making Clint miserable. Did that include seeing Marjorie dead?

  The Edge of Town store loomed ahead, looking extra spooky with the moon perched just above the horizon behind it. Clint pulled into the parking area, cut the engine, and got the flashlight from the console between them.

  “I don’t see any crime tape,” Tommy said.

  But the sand around the store showed heavy foot activity.

  Sandy pulled her flashlight from her go-bag. “I don’t want to go in there. I’m going to stay out here and look around.”

  “We won’t be long.” Clint shouldered open the door.

  “Take the time you need.” She exited as well.

  The men walked inside while Sandy wandered toward the rear until she had a good view of the house and the barn. With the full moon bathing the desert, she could see how the location would have appealed to early settlers. Situated in a small valley with plenty of water, it had once been the perfect way station for weary travelers. The potential existed. Longevity did not. Years of drought coupled with technological advances that grew the town had doomed the homestead. For all the faults she could find in Chuck and Annie, trying to rebuild what was lost wasn’t one of them.

  Sandy wandered a little farther. The flashlight wasn’t necessary with the moon so bright. Footsteps were everywhere. It made her appreciate Posner’s diligence. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.

  A flash caught the corner of her eye. Sandy jerked her attention to the barn. Torch-bearing figures ran around the perimeter, setting fires. Flames licked up the sides.

  The barn’s on fire! She pulled her phone from her pocket to dial 911 as she ran toward the store to tell the men.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Put the phone away.”

  Sandy skidded to a stop. A man stood in the doorway, aiming a rifle right at her. Running would only get her killed. Although standing there her chances didn’t look so good either. No sense screaming for Clint or Tommy. The man had come from inside the store. If he didn’t have them already, she wasn’t going to give them up. She tucked her phone away and raised her hands, the flashlight still in her grip.

  “Burn it down. I don’t care. Just let me go.” She said it loudly enough to hopefully catch Clint and Tommy’s attention.

  “Shut up, bitch.” He pressed the radio mic on his shoulder. “Got a situation up here. What do you want to do?”

  “Cops?” a man asked.

  “A woman and two men. Same woman who was here yesterday.”

  Ah, the shooter.

  “Bring them up. We’ll put them in with the others. We’ll burn them all together. Hurry up. We’re running out of time. I don’t want to chase fucking people all over the desert. I want all this done now, so we can get the hell out of here before it’s too late.”

  Oh my God! That’s Chuck’s voice!

  “They ain’t going anywhere. Every door and window is sealed tight. So chill out.” He released the mic
, stepped to one side, and gestured with the rifle barrel toward the store. “Get in there.”

  Sandy turned on her flashlight beam and edged his way. Movement behind him caught her attention. Clint. She flicked the light into their captor’s eyes.

  “What the fuck!” He lifted his arm to protect his eyes, waving the rifle wildly. A shot rang out, hitting the sand at her feet.

  Her heart skipped a beat. Clint took him down in a chokehold. The weapon flailed in his hands. She dashed for the side of the building and hopefully out of the line of fire. Then he crumpled to a heap at Clint’s feet. Clint stood over him, pulling in hard breaths. He bent down, grabbed the rifle, and touched his neck.

  “Dead?” Tommy asked from within the building.

  “Yes. You okay?” Clint asked.

  Sandy waited for Tommy to answer only to realize Clint was talking to her. “Yes. The barn. There are people inside. I’d swear that was Chuck’s voice I heard over the mic.”

  Blood trickled down his face from a cut on his head. “Fuck,” Clint muttered.

  Tommy staggered into view, looking just as bad. “Shoot ’em.”

  “I can’t make a shot like that anymore. How would I know I’m not shooting an innocent person? Call it in, Sandy. Then get in the truck and stay low. We’re going to try to get closer.”

  She didn’t like any of those scenarios. “You heard him. There are people trapped inside. Chuck said he wanted them dead. We’ve got to get them out.”

  Clint studied the growing inferno. “Call it in. Tommy, take the truck. You’re going to ram it into the side of the barn and take a wall down. I’ll go forward and clear the way for you. It’s time to end this shit.”

  Sandy prayed there were enough bullets for him to do the job.

  Hunkered down, he scurried into the desert with lethal intensity. This was the Clint who’d gone to war. The Clint who’d killed. Sandy was damn proud to have him.

  Tommy ran for the truck. Sandy dialed 911 and made the report.

  Now what? Being in the truck with Tommy wasn’t a good idea. With impact, the airbags would deploy and injury would happen. Charging into the fray with Clint was equally ill-advised. She decided hovering near the front was her best option. There she could await first responders.

  Rounding the corner of the building to do just that, another man blocked her path. She feigned a stumble, fell, and grabbed fistfuls of sand as he hauled her to her feet. Sandy hurled the sand into his face and dashed for the road. A blinding tackle took her down before she got far, knocking the wind out of her. Gasping for breath, she closed her fingers over a rock and swung blindly when someone reached for her. Her arms were pinned before she could strike.

  “Stop it,” he growled and banged her head against the ground.

  Pain ricocheted through her skull. She stared up at the bastard hovering over her, gathered saliva, and spit in his face. He roared with rage and reared his arm to backhand her. Sandy braced for the blow and yanked her knee into his groin.

  Screaming, he toppled to one side and clutched his crotch. Sandy scrambled to her feet, grabbed his rifle, and headed for Clint’s truck. The engine revved. In the distance, shots fired with steady precision. Her captor grunted, cursed, and started her way. Sandy reached the front of the building in time to see Tommy speed off, eyes locked on his target. Miles down the road, emergency lights flashed. That was the beauty of the desert—you could see for miles and miles. It was also a curse, because she knew that the only hope those people had were Clint, Tommy, and her. Help was too far away.

  She spun on her attacker and fired. The impact knocked him on his back. Blank eyes stared at the sky. Sandy felt no remorse for having killed him. She followed Clint’s lead. She hunkered down and moved forward.

  Silhouetted against the flames, their enemies became easy targets. She watched them topple one by one. Fire always took on its own life and sound. This was no exception. The roar and crack obscured Clint’s gunfire. But not the truck racing their way. She counted six men remaining. Four ran off, whether for their own safety or to circle around to capture Clint, she didn’t know and wasn’t going to take chances.

  Sandy searched for him and found Clint about twenty feet from the barn. Tommy took the turn on two wheels and gunned the engine. A figure barred the way, rifle raised. Chuck. Clint stood, aiming for his brother while another man aimed for Clint. She braced her feet in the sand and prayed to every deity in existence to save Clint. Then she squeezed the trigger—and missed. The side of the barn burst into splinters from the truck’s impact. Flames shot skyward. She dropped to her belly, trying to find Clint among the chaos that erupted. People were screaming from inside, babies wailing. They poured from the building, one after the other, some on fire. A figure cut through the night and tackled one man, rolling him to the ground. Then the figure stood, his body unmistakable against the backdrop of flames.

  Clint.

  Dragging in breaths, she made her way to the scene. People needed help. That was her job—to help. With her hero feet away, God help the person who tried to stop her. She jogged the rest of the distance and reached the edge of the scene in time to see Clint’s truck backing from the barn, Tommy at the wheel. People lay low in the bed, anxious for safety. Hovering over them, Clint held a baby in one arm and a small child in the other. Relief poured over his face when he saw her, but he said nothing. He merely handed the children into her care and turned to help someone else. Sandy set up a triage area. Tommy hooked up garden hoses and tried to fight the blaze at the opening. Several of those rescued tried to help.

  That was what her people arrived to—controlled disaster. They swarmed the area, taking charge. Sheriff’s deputies were right behind. Sandy stepped away to let them do their jobs and found sanctuary next to Tommy at Clint’s battered truck.

  “Why are they even bothering to save the place?” he asked.

  “There’s equipment inside with fuel that could explode. There’s also the risk of embers starting a wildfire. Chuck?” she asked.

  “He went down before I hit the barn. I don’t know where he is. I don’t think I care. God, Sandy, all these people. What the hell was he doing?”

  “Trafficking illegals and drugs,” Posner said from behind them.

  Sandy didn’t have the energy to turn around. “With Martin Hall?”

  “Oh, yes. Quite the little operation. Martin’s hoping to make a deal and singing like a bird. He admitted to hitting Marjorie and telling Chuck to clean up after him. He claims he didn’t know what Chuck did with her body and didn’t much care. All the alphabet agencies were notified—FBI, DEA, ICE—and we were forming a task force and planning to move in later tonight when it got darker. Looks like you beat us to it. I expect the feds will be crawling all over the place any minute now.”

  “Getting in the way,” she mumbled.

  Posner laughed. “Something like that.”

  Tommy jerked his chin toward the barn. “Chuck’s here in all this mess. I don’t know if he’s alive or dead.”

  A fresh flurry of activity at the barn drew Sandy’s attention—water arcing over the structure, firefighters in position, sheriff’s deputies talking with victims while paramedics assessed injuries. This would have normally been her shift. She would have been right in the middle of it.

  She laughed at that. You have been in the middle of it. The adrenaline crash wasn’t going to be long in coming either. Shouts erupted near the barn’s entrance. She watched as a man was hurled from the building, followed immediately by another one who wasted no time dragging the first man back to his feet.

  “I think we’ve found Clint and Chuck,” Tommy said.

  “No shit.” Sandy jogged toward them. Although their fight had taken them farther from the barn, danger from falling timber still threatened.

  Clint’s shouts rang above the cacophony. “You killed my wife! You killed my son! You’re going to die!”

  “Clint, no!” Sandy shouted. Someone snagged her around the waist, pull
ing her to a halt.

  “Don’t, Sandy,” CJ said.

  She beat against his turnout gear, wiggling until she was free, then cut through the crowd, screaming Clint’s name. Her voice pulled his attention to her. Chuck struggled to his feet, his face twisted with hate. Fire reflected off the gun in his upraised hand. She raised the rifle and fired.

  People always talked about how things moved in slow motion. Now she understood what that meant. Sandy felt the bullet leave the barrel, heard the gasps of her firefighter family around her, saw Clint touch his side and whip around to face Chuck, then the surprise on Chuck’s face when he realized he’d been shot. Someone snatched the rifle from her hands. An eternity in seconds before the pain in her belly doubled her over.

  CLINT SCOOPED HER up, and Sandy locked her arms around him, burying her face in the crook of his neck. Clint clutched her to him. Then he saw the blood covering her.

  “She’s bleeding! Someone help her! Blood’s everywhere!” He strode through the crowd of people, looking for help but not seeing anything except blood.

  Someone blocked his path. A big firefighter in what Sandy called turnout gear.

  “Get out of my way!”

  The man pressed his hand on Clint’s shoulder. “It’s Mike, Clint. Let me take her.”

  Sandy tightened her hold as Clint tightened his. “No.” He frantically shook his head. “She’s bleeding. There’s blood.”

  “Yes, I know.” Mike reached for her again. “It’s yours, not hers. You’re hurt. Let CJ help you. I’ve got her.”

  Another firefighter was beside Clint, wrapping his arm over Clint’s shoulder. “Come on, buddy. Looks like you took quite a whack to the head. You’ve really fucked up your hand. And I’m pretty sure you’ve been shot.”

  Sandy jerked her head up.