4th of July

Chapter 142

ABOUT TEN MINUTES LATER, sirens wailed and the flashing lights of patrol cars raced up the winding road below. Medevac chopper blades roared overhead.

Melissa Farley was back in the bathroom with her husband. “Allison,” I said. “Please go downstairs and open the door for the police.” Bob still held Allison tightly in his arms. She turned her round-eyed stare on me. Her lips were quivering as she held back sobs.

“Go ahead, darling,” Carolee said from where she lay on the floor. “It’s all right.”

Ten steps away from me, Bob’s face sagged; his expression was that of a beaten man. He squeezed Ali’s shoulders, and I gasped involuntarily. Then he released the child.

As soon as Ali was safely out of the room, my anger exploded.

“Who are you two? What made you think you could get away with this?”

I stepped over to Bob Hinton, ripped away the knife, and ordered him to put his hands against the wall. I Mirandized him as I frisked him.

“Do you understand your rights?”

His laughter was shrill but sardonic. “Better than most,” he said.

I found glass-cutting tools and a camera on Hinton, which I removed. Then I forced him to the ground and sat on the edge of the king-size bed, holding my gun on him and Carolee.

I didn’t even blink until I heard heavy footsteps rumbling up the stairs.