No Safe House

Sixty-seven Terry

Vince told me to keep an eye on Wyatt and Reggie, still spread out on the floor, while he went into the room where Jane had been held. I watched him gather together several lengths of rope. He came back into the rec room and told Reggie to cross her wrists behind her.

“No,” she said.

“Look at me,” Vince said. She twisted her head around, saw a gun pointed to her head.

Wyatt said to Vince, “Come on, man. We’re cooperating. We’ve done everything you’ve asked.”

“Yeah,” Vince said, not sounding particularly grateful. “But things’ll get more complicated when your friends show up. I need to make sure you don’t get rambunctious.”

“Just do it,” Wyatt said to Reggie.

Vince tucked his gun into his belt and knelt down so he could tie her wrists, which she had now placed behind her back. He used only a short piece of rope, but he made it count. I wondered how many times he’d done this. With another short length, he secured her ankles together.

“Now you,” he said to Wyatt.

I could see the fear in his eyes as he craned his neck around, looked up at us from the floor. He believed this was a step on the way to execution. I felt I had to say something.

“It’s going to be okay,” I told him. “Like you said, you’ve done everything we’ve asked.”

Vince gave me a disapproving look as he bound Wyatt’s wrists behind him, then his ankles. He stood, with some effort, took a second to catch his breath, and said to me, “That takes the pressure off.”

“Tell them you’re not going to kill them.” Not whispering.

Vince said to the couple, “If I told you I’m not going to shoot you, would you believe me?”

Reggie said, “We’d want to.”

He nodded. “But you wouldn’t be convinced, would you?” She shook her head, as best she could with her face pressed to the carpet. “Well, then there’s not much point telling you.”

For the next few minutes the four of us just waited, saying nothing. It had been about fifteen minutes since Wyatt had called Logan and Joseph. If they were ten miles away, I figured we’d see them pretty soon. I didn’t know how Vince wanted to pull this off, choreograph it.

As if reading my mind, he said to our prisoners, “When they come into the house, they’ll probably call out. You tell them to come downstairs. Nothing else. You understand?”

“Yeah,” Reggie said.

“Yeah,” Wyatt said.

“They got a remote for the garage?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said.

“They in a Lexus SUV?”

“Yeah,” she said.

Vince said to me, “Upstairs.”

Up in the kitchen, he said, “I thought they might come through the front door, but now I’m thinking, since they’ve got a remote, it’ll be the garage.” It was large enough for two vehicles, so that made sense. “If they’re bringing in Jane, they’re not going to run the risk of anyone seeing her being brought into the house.”

I felt as though I’d had thirty cups of coffee. I was shaking.

“You okay?” Vince asked.

“No,” I admitted.

“This is almost over. They bring Jane, we take her back. Simple as that.”

“No one has to die,” I said.

“No one has to die,” Vince said.

I wondered whether he would feel that way when he saw her, found out how they had treated her. If I were in his position, how much restraint would I be able to show? Wouldn’t I want to kill these sons of bitches if they’d done something to Grace? Even if she hadn’t been harmed physically, wouldn’t they deserve to die for what they’d put her through?

I needed to keep a level head. Not just for myself, but to make sure Vince kept his.

Vince investigated the area by the door that led from the garage into the house. “I’ll stand there,” he said, pointing to where the wall was recessed back of where the door opened in. “They’ll be all the way in the house before they realize I’m behind them. I tell them to drop their weapons, and then you come through that door there, gun pointing at their heads. We’ve got them covered from both sides. We get Jane. But we take them downstairs, tie them up, give us time to slip away. We’ll take the woman’s car, go back to the cemetery, get my truck.”

Sure. What could go wrong?

“I guess,” I said.

Vince frowned. “No guessing. You need your head in the game. You can do this?”

“I can do this,” I said.

“Get in position. Tell me if you can see the driveway from there.”

I went around the other side of the wall, just beyond the door to the basement stairs. I was in the dining room, a few feet away from a window covered in white sheers — sheer enough that I could see outside. I had a view of the street and the bottom two-thirds of the driveway.

“I’ve got a good view,” I said.

“Soon as you see them turn in, tell me.”

“Like I’d keep it to myself,” I said.

And we waited.

“Anything?” he asked me after about five minutes. Like, maybe I’d seen the SUV pull into the driveway but it had slipped my mind to mention it.

I just said, “No.”

Seconds later I said, “Hang on.”

An SUV was turning into the driveway. One man behind the wheel, another in the passenger seat. It was hard to tell from here, but the front of his face appeared half covered in white.

“They’re pulling in now. They’re—”

We heard the garage door rattle as it began to roll up. A car coming into the building. Car doors opening and closing.

Murmurs. People talking.

I peeked around the corner, saw Vince in his hiding spot. He waved his hand, motioning for me to get back behind the wall.

“Gonna be fine,” he mouthed.