God, he hated little kids. Maybe it was a blessing that he’d been in prison while Dale was growing out of this disgusting phase.

“Answer me, damn it!”

The girl looked at the floor and hunched her shoulders as if trying to make herself look smaller.

Wyatt slapped her face, just hard enough to get her attention.

She gasped and covered her face with her hands.

“Who did you call? The police?” When she didn’t answer again, he raised his hand. “Don’t make me hit you again,” he told her.

“Isabelle.”

Wyatt smiled. “Good girl. I was going to call her anyway.”

Then he heard the sirens and realized that Isabelle had probably called the police. He hadn’t had the chance to warn her not to.

Fuck!

Wyatt dragged the girl out of the room, picking up the phone on his way. He needed to get out before the police came.

She tripped on the stairs and would have fallen down if he hadn’t been holding on to her. He picked her up with one arm and tossed her over his shoulder.

By the time he’d gotten downstairs, he could already see the glow of flashing lights winking through the blinds.

A frustrated roar burst out of him, making the windows shake. This was not supposed to happen. It was supposed to be a clean trade. He’d get his son and get out of the country without the police being the wiser. But no, the soft little girl who couldn’t stop crying long enough to wipe her nose had ruined everything.

Wyatt tossed her on the floor, next to her mother’s bleeding body. “See what happens when you try to fuck up my plans?” he asked her.

She was sobbing, holding the arm she’d landed on close to her body. “Momma?”

“Momma didn’t listen to me,” said Wyatt. “The same thing will happen to you, too, if you don’t listen.”

The girl shook her mom’s shoulder, but the woman didn’t move. Blood oozed out of a hole in her chest, but apparently, the girl hadn’t figured out what that meant. “Momma, wake up. Please, Momma.”

Police cars started flooding the street out front. There was no way Wyatt was going to get out of here without being caught. His plans had to change.

At least he had a hostage.

Grant made the fifteen-minute drive to Amanda’s in less than half that. Isabelle’s stomach rebelled at the sudden turns and dangerous speed even as she admired the skill it took to get them there safely.

Amanda’s street was blocked off by police cars, and they couldn’t get closer than a hundred yards. They got out and headed down the cracked sidewalk.

Light flashed everywhere, and neighbors poked their heads out to see what was going on. Some of the police had their weapons drawn and all of them kept careful watch on the house. In the deep shadows behind the run-down home, Isabelle thought she saw movement.

“There’s someone back there,” she told Grant.

He took her arm to steady her over the broken concrete, which was good, because her legs still weren’t working like they were supposed to.

“It’s SWAT,” he said.

“How can you tell?”

“They’re moving in standard two-by-two formation.”

An officer in uniform stopped them in front of Amanda’s neighbor’s house. “You can’t come any closer.”

“Is Detective Mathews here?” asked Grant.

More than a hint of sarcasm tinted the young man’s tone. “Yeah, but he’s a little busy.”

“I’m the one who called it in. Where is he?”

The officer hesitated for a moment as if deciding whether or not to cooperate, then pointed to a clump of men near one of the patrol cars.

Grant told the policeman, “I’m going to him.”

“I can’t let you do that. The man inside is armed.”

“I know. I heard him fire a round when the little girl in there was talking to me on the phone. I’m not trying to interfere, we just want to know what’s going on. These people are friends.”

“Can you please find out if they’re okay?” She didn’t realize until Grant petted her hand that she was squeezing his arm hard enough to leave bruises. She relaxed her grip and took a deep breath. She had to stay calm so she’d be able to help if they needed her.

The officer gave him a brief nod. “Stay here. I’ll go get him.”

Isabelle’s phone rang. It was Amanda’s number. A jolt of panic shot through her, and she nearly dropped the phone before she could push the talk button. “Rachel?”

Grant leaned close to the phone, and she angled it so he could hear, too.

“No,” came Wyatt’s angry voice. “But she’s right here. If you want her back, then get these fucking cops out of here.”

“Not going to happen,” said Grant. “You might as well give up now. It beats being taken out in a body bag.”

“Do they make those in kids’ size?” asked Wyatt. “ ’Cause that’s what they’re gonna need for the little girl here if they don’t back off. I already took out her mom. Don’t think for a second I won’t do the same to her if I have to.”

In the background, Isabelle heard Rachel’s pitiful whimper of terror. She was still alive. They weren’t too late.

Isabelle nearly crumpled with relief.

“Let me talk to Rachel. Please,” she begged. “She’s just a little girl.”

“You want her. I want Dale. The only way you’re getting her is if Dale agrees to come with me.”

Isabelle’s throat clamped down so hard she couldn’t talk. She felt Dale’s presence at her back and prayed that he hadn’t heard that.

“Sure,” said Grant, sounding totally casual. “Whatever you want. Just don’t hurt the girl, or the deal’s off.”

Isabelle stared at him in shock. “You can’t—”

Grant’s hand clamped down over her words, cutting them off. He mouthed the words “Trust me.”

She did. He’d never do anything to jeopardize a child.

Isabelle nodded and Grant removed his hand.

“What can’t I do?” demanded Wyatt.

Mathews arrived then, and Grant held up a finger for silence. “How do you want this to go down?” he asked.

“Get the cops to leave. Then we’ll talk.” Wyatt broke the connection.

Isabelle felt hot tears slide down her cheeks. She could only imagine how frightened Rachel must be. “We’ve got to do what he asks.”

“What does he want?” asked Mathews.

Isabelle made the mistake of looking at Dale. She saw the moment he realized what was going on—the way his bright blue eyes dulled with shock and anger.

“He wants me,” said Dale. It wasn’t a question. He knew. “Fine. I’ll go to him.”

Grant clasped the boy’s shoulder. “That’s not going to happen. We’re just playing along to keep him from hurting Rachel.”

Mathews’s jaw clenched. “What about the woman who lives here?”

Instead of responding to Mathews’s question, Grant looked at Isabelle. “I’m sorry, honey.”

Isabelle started to shake. Her knees felt wobbly. This couldn’t be happening. Amanda was working so hard to build a better life for her daughter. It couldn’t end like this. It couldn’t. “She might be okay. Maybe he just injured her.”

“Maybe,” said Grant, though he didn’t sound convinced.

He looked to Mathews. “You need to have your men back off. He’s twitchy.”

“We can pull the units back some. But no way will we let SWAT back off. Not as long as there’s a chance one of them could take him out.”

“I could take him out,” stated Grant. There was no bravado in his voice, just simple, lethal fact.

“I don’t doubt it. I’ve seen your records, but you’re a civilian now. You need to let us handle this.”

Grant’s fists clenched tight.

“I’ll go talk to him,” offered Dale.

“No,” said all three adults at the same time.

“It’s me he wants. If he’s going to have a hostage, better me than some scared little girl.”

“He’s already killed at least eight people,” said Mathews.

Dale’s body went still. “What do you mean eight people?”

“He doesn’t know,” said Isabelle, feeling the weight of her decision to hide the truth bearing down on her. “I didn’t want him to know.”

“Know what? Don’t treat me like a child,” Dale ground out. “I deserve to know what’s going on.”

Grant’s fingers slid over Isabelle’s hand in a soothing caress. “He’s right, Isabelle. He’s nearly a man now. He can handle it.”

Isabelle’s eyes closed in regret. Things would have been so much easier if Dale had been a child who needed to be protected. But he wasn’t. He was already being forced to face his father’s mistakes, and coddling him would only make her feel better. Not him.

“Go ahead,” she told Mathews. “Tell him what you know.”

“Wyatt has been killing people since he got out of prison. He’s tried to kill Isabelle twice now. He sabotaged her car, then poisoned her.”

Dale’s face went white, his eyes flat as he looked at her. “Poison? That’s why you were sick tonight. He tried to kill you to get me back.”

“No. This wasn’t about you,” she said. “All of the people he’s killed lived in the same foster home years ago.”

“It’s my fault,” said Grant. “I’m the one who killed his uncle. He may be getting revenge on all of us, but I was the one who caused it.”

“No, my father caused it,” said Dale, looking a little sick.

The detective’s lips pressed together.

“Dale . . .” Isabelle reached for him, but he jerked away from her touch. She wanted so badly to comfort him, but she had no idea what to say or do to make any of this better.

He closed his eyes, pain tightening his face. “If I don’t go in there, he’s going to kill Rachel, too.”

“You can’t stop him. Let the police handle this.”

“She’s right, son,” said Mathews.

Dale glared at him. “I’m not your son. I’m his. I can’t let him hurt a little girl.”

“We won’t let that happen,” said Grant.

Dale glared at Grant. “You can’t stop him, either, I don’t care how big and tough you think you are. I’m the only one who can stop him. I’m the one he wants.”

Grant gave Isabelle a guilty look before he said to Mathews, “Maybe he can help. Maybe if he pretends to go along with Wyatt’s plan, he’ll let Rachel go.”

Mathews shook his head. “It’s too risky.”

“I’m not taking any risk at all talking to him on the phone,” said Dale.

“We’ve got a hostage crisis specialist already on the way,” said Mathews. “We just need to keep things quiet until then. She’ll know the best way to handle this.”