guard gave Master Pitts a withering glance. “They’re safe.”
“Not as long as they are in The Enemy’s hands,” Wayne said, unable to keep his peace.
“They will be freed,” Kent said with only a slight side-glance to Wayne. “My family will find them. All of my wives and children will be found and sent to a better place.”
The marshal took out a pad and started making notes. “You know all of this can be used against you. You’ve been warned.”
“I will find my children, the innocents first, then my wives. And I will free them from the bonds of earth and man’s dominion.”
The Enemy’s minion pulled a face that said he thought Kent was crazy.
Wayne gritted his teeth, wanting to strike out at the impudent man. If not for the shackles binding his hands behind him and looped around the steel bar on the side of the paddy wagon, he’d dispense the kind of beating his father used to dole out.
With a ragged breath, Wayne shoved down his rage. Wayne knew The Truth. Kent kept his word. Kent would do what he vowed, no matter the cost.
“Could be kinda hard from behind bars,” the marshal mocked with a sloppy grin.
Kent arched a dark eyebrow. “I wouldn’t—”
The van shifted suddenly, slinging the men in the back from side to side as the vehicle fishtailed.
Wayne and the other members of The Sword gathered themselves, grunting in pain where the shackles had jerked against their wrists. The marshal tapped on the small window between the front seat and the transport bay. “Everything all right up there, Stan?”
“Black ice. Sorry. It’s getting dicey out here, so I’ll probably get off these side roads and try the highway. They’re more likely to have been salted,” was the muted reply from the front seat.
“Radio the staties and ask which—”
The van jerked again. Pitched hard left, then right. Rolled. Men and metal were tossed, crumpled, broken.
When the world stopped spinning, Wayne blinked at the opposite side of the van, which was now above him. He lay on his back, and his arms ached, having been yanked in a tug-of-war between momentum and the handcuffs as they had flipped. His head throbbed, but he was conscious, in one piece.
He searched the space around him quickly. Found Kent struggling against the metal shackles.
The marshal groaned and rolled onto his side. His head was bleeding. His leg lay at a funny, unnatural angle. The other members of The Sword—Jimmy, Oscar, George and Burt—were in various states of injury. All of them were moaning and moving slowly.
The scrape of metal drew his attention back to Kent. “Help me, Wayne. The bar is loose.”
Sure enough, the steel bar their handcuffs had been looped around for transport had been dislodged as the van wall crumpled. Kent had slid his shackles to the loose end of the bar and tugged to free the final bolts from the twisted metal.
“We have to act fast. We don’t have much time.” Kent worked his handcuffs free of the bar and hauled himself to his feet. He stepped over the handcuffs to bring his arms in front of him and quickly snatched the keys from the marshal’s belt. With key in hand, Kent turned and sent Wayne a hard look. “You know what has to be done.”
Energized with a new mission and fresh resolve, Wayne gave a terse nod. “I do, Master Pitts.”
* * *
Miriam and a sheriff’s deputy arrived at Lila’s twenty minutes later with Eve. They brought a small supply of baby clothes, Eve’s blanket, favorite toys and a few jars of baby food.
Miriam wrote both her number and the contact number for FBI Special Agent Dunn on a notepad as a precaution. “But you shouldn’t need either,” Miriam reassured her with a smile. “The cult members are in custody, and it’s only a matter of time before Eve’s grandparents are located. We should have her resettled in a day or two.”
After signing some legal documents and getting the usual procedural instructions from Miriam, Lila was left alone with her foster baby to get acquainted and settle in. Eve was understandably fussy. The events of the morning had to have been frightening and confusing to the little girl. Eve had lost her mother, had been bustled from one strange environment to another, and had been roused from her morning nap when they’d arrived at Lila’s cabin.
Eve released a mournful wail, and Lila lifted her from the baby carrier. Cuddling the infant on her shoulder, she paced the cabin, rubbing Eve’s back and cooing to her. According to Miriam, the baby wasn’t due for another feeding for almost two hours. Sleep was the priority, so Lila walked the floor, sang lullabies and murmured sweet nothings to calm the cranky baby.
Chloe, who’d hidden while the social worker and cop were delivering Eve, crept out from the back of the house and cast a wary eye to the noisy little creature that had invaded her house. She sniffed the baby’s things and sent Lila a disdainful glare.
“It’s just for a little while, Chloe. We’ve had babies here before. You know the routine. Don’t pretend you don’t.”
With a loud meow, Chloe traipsed over to the door to her screened porch and stared at the door handle.
Lila chuckled. “It’s thirty-three degrees and dropping, Chloe. Trust me. You don’t want to go out there.”
Chloe meowed again, more emphatically, and Eve raised her head from Lila’s shoulder to glance at the cat. Her cries calmed a bit as she studied the feline with a curious wrinkle on her button nose.
“You like that kitty? Her name’s Chloe. Nice kitty.”
Eve gave a loud squawk and waved a chubby hand toward the cat. Chloe merely regarded the baby balefully then trotted down the hall, presumably to hide again. With the cat out of sight, Eve’s whines tuned up again, and Lila resumed her pacing and back patting. “I know, sweet girl. You miss your mommy.”
Lila shuddered as the news story replayed in her mind. A teenage girl, a young mother murdered by her kidnapper. Horrible!
Finally, Eve settled down when Lila rocked her in the nursery glider, and the infant drifted off to a restless sleep. Lila transferred the baby to the crib, turned on the nursery monitor and tiptoed out of the room.
“Me-row!” Chloe chirped from the hall.
“Shh!” Lila pressed a finger to her lips and lifted her cat in her arms as she headed to the kitchen, whispering, “Don’t you dare wake Eve up!”
After setting Chloe on the couch with a last head scratch, Lila contemplated her painting. She ought to squeeze in a little more work on the landscape before Eve woke up. Or perhaps she should fix her own lunch, she thought when her stomach growled. She needed to get back in the routine of attending to her own needs while her foster baby was asleep or safely occupied with toys.
She opened her refrigerator and took out a cup of yogurt and a container of leftover Chinese takeout. Giving the sweet-and-sour chicken a sniff, she decided it had become more sour than sweet, and she carried it to the kitchen sink. After dumping the spoiled
