Page 47 of Calder Strong (The Calder Brand #5)

The risk involved in rescuing them no longer mattered. He might have already waited too long. But dwelling on that idea would be as useless as it was heartbreaking. He couldn’t think about it. He could only make his move.

Lola’s involvement was his only lead. Find her, shake the truth out of her.

Maybe the children were at Jake’s, with its labyrinth of back rooms. It was his best chance, but what if he was wrong?

Or what if he was right and his rush to rescue them cost their precious lives?

He had no choice except to take that chance.

Earlier, needing an ally, he had called Mason and told him everything. Mason had promised to help and was on his way. Joseph was waiting for him now.

An urgent knock at the front door sent Joseph rushing to answer it. But it wasn’t Mason who stood on the threshold. It was Forrest, looking stronger and more mature than the boy Joseph remembered from a few weeks earlier.

“We don’t have much time,” he said before Joseph could question him. “Your kids are locked in a storeroom in the basement of Jake’s. The man holding them doesn’t plan to let them live.”

Joseph’s heart slammed. “How many men are there?”

“Three with pistols. Then there’s Lola, but she won’t fight you.

The door to the basement is under the back stairs.

I’ll try to leave it unlocked, but you might have to shoot your way in.

” He took in Joseph’s astonished expression.

“I’ve done some pretty bad things in my time, but you were decent to me.

I owe you. And I can’t stand back while innocent kids die. ”

“How did you get here? It’s a long walk.”

Forrest flashed a cocky grin. “I’m driving Lola’s car. Got to go. They’ll miss me. Hurry.” He sprinted into the darkness. Seconds later, Joseph heard the sound of an engine starting.

There was no time to wait in the house for Mason. Joseph holstered his revolver, ran out to his car, and headed down the switchbacks. At the junction with the main road, he saw distant headlights coming from the direction of the Hollister Ranch. That would be Mason.

Joseph waited for Mason to catch up with him. Then, motioning for him to follow, he gunned the engine. Raising dust clouds, the two of them sped toward town.

Forrest had been caught getting out of Lola’s car in the parking lot. The biggest of the thugs, the man called Carlos, had dragged him inside, punched him in the face and gut, then flung him, bruised and bleeding, into the storeroom.

Forrest landed hard on his back. As the door locked behind him, he lay gasping with pain.

As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he became aware of two small faces looking down at him—a somber, dark-haired boy and a little blond princess of a girl.

Joseph’s children. He had glimpsed them earlier when they were brought in.

Now, his fate would be the same as theirs.

“Did you come to save us?” the little girl asked.

How could he tell her the truth—that minutes from now all three of them could die? “I came to help,” Forrest said, sitting up. “Your father, Joseph, knows you’re here. He’s on his way. He’ll be here any minute now.”

“How will he get in?” the boy asked.

“He might have to fight his way in,” Forrest said. “If you hear gunfire, here’s something you can do to be safe. Let me show you.”

Ignoring the pain of his beaten body, he stretched out face down on the floor. “Like this. Pretend you’re a pancake. Spread yourself out as flat as you can and stay that way. Whatever you do, don’t sit up. Don’t even raise your head to look around. Got it? Show me.”

From the other side of the door, Forrest could hear a growing commotion—crashing furniture, shouted curses. “Now!” he said. “Down, like I showed you!”

As the children lay flat, Forrest spread himself over them, bracing his weight with his elbows and knees. So far, he hadn’t led a very good life. But if he was going to die now, protecting these kids with his body might earn him a few points at the pearly gates.

Joseph and Mason parked in a vacant lot, twenty yards from the back of the restaurant.

No lights could be seen, but Joseph spotted two cars parked to one side of the open stairway that climbed the back of the building.

One was a newer Model T, which Forrest may have driven.

The other was a black DeSoto—possibly the car that had taken his children.

Below the stairs and off to one side was the door to the basement.

Lucas and Ellie could be behind that door. Joseph could only pray silently that he would find them alive.

Mason had driven his heavy-duty ranch truck, which he used for hauling hay and towing trailers.

Joseph had his Model A. They stepped to the ground, leaving the doors ajar.

There’d been no chance for them to talk since their phone call, but Mason seemed to know what to do.

He’d lived a dangerous life as a smuggler before settling down, Joseph reminded himself.

There was no sign of Forrest. Hopefully, the boy was safe. He’d mentioned that he’d try to leave the door unlocked, but when Joseph crept close and tested it, the latch would not budge.

Joseph glanced back at Mason, who beckoned him to return to the truck.

Guessing what Mason had in mind, Joseph climbed into the truck bed and crouched behind the cab with his pistol drawn.

Mason climbed into the cab, switched on the bright headlights, and started the truck.

The engine roared as he stomped the gas pedal and sent the big vehicle rocketing toward the basement door.

The jarring impact shattered the base of the rickety stairs and tore the door out of its moldering wood frame. They were inside.

A hail of bullets greeted them. Through the clearing cloud of dust, Joseph could see that the tables and chairs had been piled into a barricade.

Evidently, the gangsters had heard them drive up and made hasty preparations.

Off to his left, he glimpsed a closed door in a side wall.

On the chance that his children were behind it, that was the place he needed to protect.

Joseph fired over the back of the cab. He could no longer see Mason through the rear window. Had he been hit or was he just staying low? There was no time to find out, but he didn’t seem to be shooting.

Joseph ducked behind the cab long enough to reload.

He could hear the loud pop of pistol fire and shattering of glass as bullets hit the windshield of the truck.

He was standing up to fire again when he heard a nightmarish sound—the rattle of a Thompson submachine gun shooting ribbons of bullets that fed into the magazine and sprayed a deadly hail, piercing the chassis of the truck and the vital door at the side of the room.

If he stood higher, in full view, he should be able to look down on the shooter.

Heedless of the danger, he rose into full view.

He could see the man with the machine gun now.

The glare of the truck’s headlights would blur the shooter’s vision, but a spray of bullets could easily hit Joseph.

A shot grazed his cheek as he took careful aim and fired.

The machine gun’s chatter ceased. The man went down and didn’t get up.

Two men remained—a big fellow who looked like a driver had dropped his gun and was clutching his wounded arm. A burly, fat-faced man in a brown suit was still gripping his weapon. Together, they made for the stairs that led up to the kitchen on the next floor.

Let them go , Joseph told himself. All he wanted was his children.

But someone was still here. A table was being pushed aside. Ready for anything, Joseph aimed his pistol.

Lola crawled out from under the debris and stood with her hands raised. “Don’t shoot, Joseph,” she shouted. “You know me! I’m Lucy! Lucy Merriweather! You loved me once!”

The fat man on the stairs raised his pistol and fired a single shot. The woman dropped to the floor, a patch of crimson blooming over her heart.

Before Joseph could return fire, the two men had vanished up the stairs. Still alert, he jumped down from the truck and opened the cab. Mason lay across the seat, bleeding from a shoulder wound. He was conscious, his jaw clenched in pain as he stanched the blood with a red-soaked handkerchief.

“Is it over?” he asked.

Joseph heard the sound of a car driving away. “It’s over,” he said. “Let me get you something better to press on that wound.”

“I’ll be fine,” he grumbled. “Damn it, just leave me be and find my grandchildren!”

Joseph made his way through the debris that blocked the door. There were several bullet holes in the thin wood. Would he find anybody alive in there? Bracing for heartbreak, he slid back the bolt and opened the door.

In the darkness of the storeroom, three figures scrambled up from the floor. As the light penetrated the gloom, Joseph recognized them.

“Daddy!” The little girl broke away from the others, ran to Joseph, and flung her arms around his neck. “You found us!”

Holding her with one arm, Joseph reached out to his son and drew him close. Lucas was trembling but silent, as if he’d already decided that he was too old to cry.

Overcome with gratitude, Joseph gazed up at Forrest. “I owe you my children’s lives,” he said. “Know that you have a home with us forever, Forrest. You can be a cowboy, go to college, or anything you want. It’s the least I can do for you.”

After clearing a way past the truck, Joseph left the children in his car, then went back to bind Mason’s wounded shoulder with a clean tablecloth and help him to the car for the ride to the doctor’s home. Kristin would know what to do.

Forrest would follow them in Lola’s old car, which he wanted to keep if he could make the arrangements.