The Bad Boy of Butterfly Harbor(80)

His arms flailed and he smacked against the bottom shelf. The world shifted into slow motion. Boxes toppled. Shelves creaked. Metal fasteners creaked and strained as he saw the floor coming up to meet him. The only thing he could think to do was cover his head as he went down.

Before the wall caved in on top of him.





CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“WHAT WAS THAT?” Holly skidded to a stop and squeezed Luke’s hand.

An enormous crash exploded from around the bend, but it was all Luke needed to hear to let go of Holly’s hand and start running. The cabin was barely standing, sagging beneath the weight of decades-old trees and neglect.

“You don’t think he’s in there?” Holly whispered.

He didn’t think. He knew. “Holly, listen to me. I don’t want you to panic, okay? But Kyle told me there are firearms and explosives in that cabin.”

“No. Please, Luke, you’ve got to get him out of there.”

“I’m going to.” It took everything he had not to tell her that Simon probably wasn’t alone. “But I can’t focus on Simon if I’m worried about you. I want you to take this.” He pushed the phone into her hands. “And call the station. Tell them we need all the help we can get. EMTs, fire department. Have them put out the call to everyone they can think of. And then wait here. Cash, stay.” The dog whined, but took up sentry beside Holly.

“I can’t just wait—” He let go of her long enough to hold her face in his palms. He could barely keep his own panic under control. “I’m going to get him out, Holly. I promise. And remember what I told you? I do not break my promises. I stick. Do you understand me?” He focused on her skin, memorizing her face, adding her desperation and fear to his mental arsenal. “You have to let me do this. Now go. Call Fletch and Ozzy.” He pressed his lips to hers. “I love you.”

It was the first time he’d said those words to anyone, and instead of seeing the rejection he’d always expected, tears flooded her eyes and she nodded. “I love you. And, Luke?” She grabbed his wrist. “I trust you. I know you’ll keep your promise.”

He returned to the cabin, taking an extra second to make sure she did as he’d instructed to move down the road and call for help. The responsibility didn’t weigh him down. The oath he’d given spurned him on.

Simon was what was important. Right now Simon was the only thing that mattered.

Knowing what was on the other side, Luke took careful steps toward the leather strap–hinged door. Whoever had built the structure hadn’t known jack about construction. He could hear the wood straining against itself, as if sheer will was the only thing keeping it upright. There was no telling how much time he had. He shoved the door open a crack and had to wedge himself inside. His foot caught and he tripped forward, the door snapping shut behind him.

“Simon?” Luke regained his footing and yanked out his cell phone, aimed the flashlight app around the suffocating, dusty cabin. His mind registered the writing on the boxes and crates, and he took mental inventory as far as safety. There was a massive pile of debris in the far corner of the cabin. And something was moving under it. “Simon?” Luke hurried forward, but something locked around his ankle. He tripped and pitched forward.

He threw his arms out and braced himself for the fall as Rex Winters rose from the floor like a vapor, the rage on his face glowing against the dim light of Luke’s cell phone. Luke rolled and kicked out, finding Winters’s knee with his foot. Winters cried out and dropped, giving Luke time to push to his feet and knock Winters toward the door.

Winters wobbled and flailed, muttered something like “stupid cop,” and fell into one of the rickety tables, smashing it to bits before he went still.

Luke was about to move toward the debris that had buried Simon, but then he spotted them. Faded and aged TNT sticks with crystallized nitro coating the ends, along with unspent ammunition lay scattered across the floor. He angled his phone, his hand trembling as he saw a familiar shoe peeking out from under the shattered crates and boxes. “Simon.” Taking a hint from Winters, Luke wrapped his hand around Simon’s ankle, angling his fingers so he could feel for a pulse.

“Sheriff Luke?”

“Yeah, buddy. I’m right here. Are you okay?”

“My head hurts. And my arm. Ow!” he cried, his movements shifting the crates and boxes toward the explosives. “There’s a bad man here.”

“I know. Don’t worry about him, okay? He’s...sleeping. Simon, I want you to stay still.” He tightened his grip on Simon’s ankle, the only part of the boy he could get a hold of. “I need to see the best way to get you out of here, but stay still.”