“What should we do?”
“You keep phoning my mother’s house while I concentrate on keeping this rig on the road,” he ordered, tossing her his cell.
Jamie was relieved to have something helpful to do. I’ll get a hold of Marsha, she’ll tell me everything is fine and I’ll be able to put Shane’s mind at ease.
The phone began to ring. And ring. Finally it went to voice mail. Jamie covered it and spoke to Shane. “Should I leave a message?”
“No. She’ll be able to tell it’s us, but not where we’re calling from.”
“Why keep that from her?”
It seemed like an innocent enough question until Shane replied, “If someone else has her phone, we don’t want them to know what we’re doing.”
“If someone else has her phone? Why...?” The unspoken answer lay so heavy in the air inside the cab of the truck Jamie could barely breathe. She knew exactly what Shane was thinking and it was so dire, so impossible to fathom, that she could hardly wrap her mind around it. His imagination had come to the conclusion that his family had met with foul play.
“No!” She grabbed his forearm. “No. Harlan is on his way. Everything will be fine. You’ll see.”
Shane remained silent, his focus ahead. He clenched his jaw muscles as tightly as his hands.
Jamie redialed repeatedly, getting the same results. Finally she laid the phone in her lap. Tears gathered behind her lashes and she hoped her voice would be steady when she said, “I don’t know what else to do.”
Though he never took his eyes off the winding country road his headlights were sweeping, he did say, “Pray.”
She wanted to ask him how to make God listen when she felt so inadequate; how to be certain her efforts were good enough. But that was foolish. Nobody could tell her that in a situation such as this or any other.
Instead, she put herself out there as best she could, called to her heavenly Father the way she remembered Pastor Malloy praying, and trusted the Lord Jesus the way she had as a child.
It was enough. It simply had to be.
SIXTEEN
By the time Shane reached his mother’s house in town, the approach was lit by red and blue strobes.
Harlan stepped forward to meet him in the driveway. “Settle down, son. They’re not here.”
“They got away?”
“Can’t say for sure.” He mopped his sweaty brow with a hanky. “We’re checking the house and grounds. I sent other units out at your place. There’s nobody there, either.”
“Then why doesn’t Mom answer her cell?”
“Beats me. Could be we’re gettin’ all excited for nothing. Marsha’s not a helpless granny.” He smiled wryly. “I’d hate to get on her bad side.”
“She’s a good shot but she’s no army ranger. If somebody got the drop on her she’d do whatever was necessary to protect Kyle and Otis.”
A shout came from inside the house and a deputy bolted out the front door. “We found the old man. Somebody trussed him up and stuck him in a closet with a dog for company.”
“Is he hurt?” Harlan called back.
“Mad as a wet hen,” the officer replied. “Dog’s not too happy, either. The little stinker tried to bite me.”
As Shane started for the house, he looked back at his truck to check on Jamie Lynn. She was standing beside it, apparently still trying to reach his mother by phone. Considering the police presence, he was satisfied she was safe enough. He was only one person. He couldn’t look after them all. It was his son who had to come first now. And his mother.
If anything bad happened to either of them, he’d never forgive himself—or the woman who had drawn him away from them at such a crucial time. Even if she had not actually asked for his help this time.
* * *
Jamie Lynn had barely ended her most recent attempt at phoning Marsha when the cell rang. Marsha! It had to be. Praise the Lord!
She grasped the instrument as if it were a lifeline, which it was. “Hello?”
“Jamie...”
“Oh, Marsha, you don’t know how glad I am to hear from you. We’ve been so worried. Shane is frantic. He’s...”
A deep, raspy voice barked, “Shut up.”
Startled, Jamie stopped in midsentence.
“Just listen,” the voice said. “Tell Colton I’ve got his brat and his mama.”
Jamie Lynn had to lean against the truck to stay standing. Her grip on the cell phone was so slippery from perspiration she nearly fumbled it.
“Where? Why?”
“I want the old sheriff’s notes. All of them.”
“They don’t say anything incriminating.”