Second Chance Ranch Chapter 33

Chapter THIRTY-THREE:

Squire parked down the street from Kelly’s house, behind the ranch truck Pete had taken to church. His Lieutenant climbed in the cab. “That truck was here when I got here, about ten minutes ago.”

Clark’s truck, which was parked in Kelly’s driveway. Squire’s heart stopped, then restarted at three times its normal rhythm. He pulled out his phone and sent a text to his dad.

Clark is at Kelly’s house. Come into town, quick. He included her address and silenced his phone.

“Pete, I need you to call the police,” he said slowly, not taking his eyes from the truck. “Tell them someone broke into the Armstrong house, and that he could be armed and dangerous.”

“Whoa, Major. You’re freaking me out. Whose truck is that?”

“Clark’s,” Squire said.

“The foreman?”

“Yes,” Squire said. “I don’t have time to explain. Call the police. I’m going in there.”

“Major.” Pete put his hand on Squire’s arm. They looked at each other for a long moment, an entire conversation—including warnings and sentiments—happening.

Then Pete finished with, “Be careful.”

Squire nodded, reading the concern in his friend’s eyes. “If I don’t come out in fifteen minutes, come in after me.”

“You got it, Major.”

A dozen scenarios went through Squire’s mind as he snuck around the side of the house next door, and then cut through the backyard to Kelly’s parents’ house.

The tree here gave him a moment to breathe, to catalog the pain in his leg and stuff it away, and study the windows and entrances to the house.

Nothing seemed amiss. Nothing had been broken. No doorknobs or handles hung funny, like they’d been forced open. He had to go up the back steps to the deck, across that to the door, and through that.

He’d been here before, and he knew a utility room sat there. Washer, dryer, ironing board built into the wall. He could see it all in his mind’s eye. 

Without a weapon, Squire would make do with whatever he found in the house that could be thrown or used to strike. If it comes to that, he told himself.

Clark might not be violent at all. Squire knew the man, but he also knew that most people would come out scratching and fighting when their back got pressed against a wall.

Survival. All humans fought for survival. He had, against all odds, in the desert, and so had a great many other men and women. Even when he wished he couldn’t fight anymore, he continued to try to survive.

Nothing moved in the house or outside it, and Squire quickly moved up the back stairs to the deck. He kept himself low, so no one could see him through the kitchen window. His injured leg protested, but he bit back the pain, using his adrenaline to override it.

Squire calmed himself, employing his Army training for stealth and steadiness. He took a deep breath and held it, poking his head up to peer through the window. The kitchen sat empty, not a utensil out of place. No coffee set to brew. No frying pan on the stove.

Perhaps Pete had missed Kelly at church, but deep down, Squire knew he hadn’t. She might be downstairs still, and the thought of her being cornered in the basement with Clark made angry fire lick along his ribcage.

Squire crept to the back door, his senses kicking into overdrive. He eased the door open, careful to move it inch by inch to avoid making any sound. Kelly’s parents owned an older home, and he hoped he could avoid causing any creaks or squeaks as he slipped inside. He removed his boots and left them on the deck to reduce the noise his feet would make.

He listened through the open door, and he could hear a low, masculine murmur coming from the living room.

Lucky for him, Kandahar had taught him to move great distances silently, quickly, without breathing. He sat on the floor and pulled his legs through the doorway. Pressing his back against the wall, he managed to stand, even though his injured leg stuttered as he did.

Four steps and he’d be able to hide behind the wall while he assessed the situation. He took them quickly, never letting his full weight settle onto the balls of his feet.

He took a deep breath, released it slowly and silently, and then breathed in again, listening. No one spoke or moved. 

The shrill ring of an old-fashioned phone had his fists curling tight and his breath hitching as adrenaline spiked and urged him to yelp. Thankfully, he didn’t. 

He couldn’t clearly hear what the man said, but it sounded like, “You won’t be answering that.”

After several annoying seconds of the shrill sound, the ringtone stopped. “Who was it?” Kelly asked, and she sounded strong and safe.

“Your boyfriend’s father,” the man said, and Squire easily recognized Clark’s voice. He wanted to bang his head against the wall as he speculated on how long he’d been here. He should’ve sent in Pete the moment he’d come upon the house. He should’ve called the police on the way here.

Squire was so tired of being inadequate, and he shoved all the should’ve’s out of his head. There was no room or time for them right now.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Kelly said, and the words cut Squire. “He’s my boss.”

“Right,” Clark said. “I hear you have a thing for bosses.”

“Shut up,” she said, her voice on the outer edge of fury. “Why don’t you just tell me where the money is? Frank and Heidi are reasonable people.”

Squire pulled out his phone and opened the video recorder, but he needed to get closer to make sure he got a quality sound. He ducked low and peered around the corner. A cutout in the wall separating the kitchen and the living room allowed him a partial view, and he watched as Clark sauntered by, his eyes cast low, like he was watching someone sitting down.

He moved out of sight, and Squire took the opportunity to scamper past the cabinets on his right to the half-wall with the cutout. He didn’t stop there, but crawled past the fish tank, bypassing the kitchen, and continued into the attached dining room.

Past the table, another arched doorway allowed access into the living room. He paused there, his right shoulder only inches from the molding. One peek around the corner, and he’d be able to see Kelly.

His chest coiled without oxygen, and his leg throbbed up into his hip. That wasn’t good, but Squire couldn’t do anything about it right now. This was a live combat situation, and he’d have to deal with medical issues later. 

Through controlled breaths, he waited, straining to hear any footsteps against the carpet. When he heard nothing, he took a chance and did a fast check around the corner.

Kelly sat on the couch facing him.

Deep breath.

Check.

Clark sat on the coffee table to the right of her, his back to Squire.

Breath.

Check.

He seemed hunched at the shoulders, like he was reading on his phone. Or worse, Kelly’s.

Squire didn’t pull back as quickly this time, and Kelly kept her attention squarely on Clark though Squire silently prayed she’d look up and see him.

Her feet and hands were tied. Tied.

Squire’s rage lifted a notch.

Her hair looked mussed, like she’d put up a fight, and her face seemed redder than usual. No blood, and definitely no tears. She was strong and confident, a lot like the first day she’d come to the ranch for her interview. 

But now she looked more vulnerable too. Definitely scared. Squire had also seen her kind streak. Her endless worry. Her anger and distrust.

“I know you have the CD,” Clark said at last, looking up from his lap. “It says so right here.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Kelly said dryly. “As you haven’t let me see my phone.”

Squire raised his hand at the same time she moved her head to shake an errant lock of hair from her face. She saw him, and her eyes widened. Just as quickly, she glanced away, playing her part perfectly.

“Squire texted, ‘Keep the CD safe.’” Clark held her phone toward her. “So you obviously have it.”

“I don’t have it,” she insisted. “You searched my basement and didn’t find it. I don’t have a CD. I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” She glanced back to Squire. He held up his phone, hoping she’d get the hint that he was recording and she needed to get Clark to confess to everything.

How she’d know that by the rudimentary gesture, he didn’t know. He simply prayed she would.

He ducked back behind the wall when Clark started to turn his way. “What are you looking at?”

Sure footfalls came his way, and Squire moved. Past the table, the aquarium, and all the way around the wall and into the living room. He ducked behind the couch just as Kelly gasped.

“Where is he?” he whispered, his back pressed into the couch and his eyes trained on the cutout that showed a slice of the kitchen.

“Just went around the corner,” she whispered back.

“I’m recording. Get him to talk.”

“Don’t be tryin’ to trick me now,” Clark called, his footsteps shuffling against the carpet on the other side of the couch as he returned to the living room.

“I’m not,” Kelly said. “You’re the one doing all the trickery. You stole millions of dollars from Three Rivers Ranch.”

“You don’t know that,” Clark said. “You don’t even know who you can trust.”

“I thought I could trust you.”

Clark chuckled darkly, the sound like sandpaper against bark. Squire wanted to burst from his hiding spot and punch him in the throat.

“Where is the money?” Kelly asked.

Clark said nothing, and Squire’s heart sank. He’d had enough experience with hostiles to know when someone was going to talk. And Clark wasn’t in a chatty mood.

“I really thought Squire would come,” Clark said, and a shaft of light fell across the floor near Squire, like Clark had parted the curtains. “But there’s no one coming.”

Squire couldn’t judge where Clark was, and he didn’t dare take a peek. He’d been pinned down before. The best thing to do was wait for a lull and then go in, guns blazing.

It was definitely a lull. He didn’t have a gun, and he hadn’t even had time to get a homemade weapon, but he leapt from behind the couch, yelling at the top of his lungs.

Clark sat on the coffee table, looking down. Squire was practically on top of him before he even raised his head. They collided; Kelly screamed; phones and cowboy hats went flying.

Squire’s momentum took both men to the floor. He landed one punch to Clark’s chin before he heard the sirens. He had his hands pinned when the red and blue lights came through the wispy curtains.

Sometimes surprise was the best weapon. 

“Get off me,” Clark snarled, trying to throw Squire off his hips with his legs. But every muscle in Squire’s body had tensed hours ago, and now they were just doing what he’d built them up to do.

“How dare you tie up a woman?” Squire glared at Clark, leaning all of his weight into the man’s wrists. He held his head up high enough so Clark couldn’t use his against him. Their eyes locked, and Squire saw no goodness left in the man.

Clark growled again, struggling against Squire’s weight and restraints. 

“Tell me where the money is,” Squire said. “This might not end too badly for you.” 

Loud knocking sounded on the door, and Kelly whimpered. “It’s probably locked.”

“Last chance,” Squire said. “If they come in here, it’s over.”

Clark tried to spit on him, and Squire leaned back just in time. “Kelly.”

“Help!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “We need help in here!”

A noise akin to an explosion had Squire’s heart quivering, all of his memories of the tank bombing blooming to life as the police crashed through the front door, weapons drawn.

He couldn’t speak as the officers started shouting questions, and thankfully, Kelly became his voice.