Small Town Justice(63)

The pistol Shane carried was intended for defense, not offense. If he drew it and used it he was liable to be arrested. However, if he failed to act he could lose the one woman who had brought unimaginable blessings and new hope to his life.

Even before he drew the gun and checked it for readiness, his mind was on the move. There had been no more shooting. Spotlights from the police cars were trained on various openings, including the front-facing windows and doorway. That left the burned-out rear of the house essentially unguarded. He’d have to rely upon reflected light and the moon when it peeked out from behind wind-driven clouds, but that would suffice. It had to.

Shane skirted the east end of the line of parked cars, purposely avoiding alerting his mother and son. He was not planning to waste his life or leave Kyle fatherless. He simply intended to do whatever was necessary to save Jamie. Again. Whether the sheriff acknowledged it or not, Shane knew that was his God-given obligation.

Voices drifted to him before he cleared the detritus that had once made up the back porch and kitchen. Freezing to listen, he heard Jamie first, His heart twisted.

“You should involve the prosecutor in this, you know. He’s as guilty as you are.”

Randall shouted, “Who says I’m guilty? Do you know who I am? How important I am? Nobody will ever believe your lies about me.”

“Sorry.” The rest of her reply was too muted to make out but its tone indicated she was trying to placate the irrational man.

Gun pointing ahead, Shane took a few more steps. The broken, charred boards beneath his boots shifted. Cracked. Brought an exclamation from upstairs.

That was proof of where Randall was holding Jamie Lynn. It was also a good indication that the judge now knew he wasn’t the only one in the house besides his prisoner.

“Who’s there?” he called down.

Shane didn’t move a muscle. As long as his adversary didn’t know where he was, he still had a slight advantage.

“You’d better speak up or I’ll shoot the woman!”

While Shane strained to see better in the dimness, a large form appeared on the topmost landing. It was too massive for one person. Clearly, the judge was using his captive as a human shield.

“I’m here,” Shane answered. “I brought you my father’s papers and old files.”

“What for?”

That query was such a shock, Shane didn’t know how to reply. “You—you asked for them.”

“Why would I do that?”

Shifting his location each time he spoke, Shane hoped to keep the madman guessing. “You said you’d trade them for my family.”

Laughing hoarsely, Randall stepped forward enough to catch a reflection from a spotlight on the chromed action of his rifle. Judging by its position, Shane surmised that the barrel was pointing at Jamie’s head. “This one isn’t family, yours or anybody’s. She’s a renegade. A nuisance. Nobody cares what happens to her, not even her stupid brother.”

“I care,” Shane said. He knew he was taking a chance by giving the judge more emotional leverage but he chose to do it rather than have Jamie think she didn’t matter. They both needed all the hope, all the inner strength they could find, including that of their faith. “So does God,” he added.

From the stairway came Jamie’s loud “Amen!”

That outburst caused the judge to shift slightly. To adjust his hold.

Shane saw her legs lift as if she were about to kick a field goal with both feet.

Randall staggered.

Jamie’s soles connected with part of the weakened banister and knocked it loose.

That threw her captor off balance. He teetered. Made a grab for the cracked railing and ended up grasping thin air.

With a shriek, Jamie Lynn lunged for the solid floor. Shane could hear her scrambling to stay up there. If he hadn’t been too far away he’d have tried to catch her as she fell.

Instead, it was the judge who sailed off the second-floor landing. The rifle fired wildly, sending a bullet into the ceiling and making it rain plaster, before he crashed onto a pile of broken, charred wood and lay there, crumpled and unmoving.

“Jamie! Hang on, honey. I’m coming,” Shane shouted, taking the stairs two at a time and holstering his own firearm.

His hands closed around her wrists. Held tight. “Gotcha.”

Portable spotlights illuminated the scene as the police stormed in. Jamie Lynn’s legs and feet were kicking like those of a floundering swimmer.

Shane eased her back onto the landing. “Are you hurt?”

“No. Just really, really scared.”

He helped her stand, pulled her into his arms and cautiously peered down at the judge. “Is he dead?”