Page 55
Opening the passenger door, she peered over the top of the Tahoe. “Kids?”
“June’s checking.”
The dash radio crackled to life as Beau steered his official vehicle onto County Road 6.
“Unit One, come in,” June’s voice came through, tight with concern.
Beau thumbed the mic. “Go ahead, June.”
“Sue and Don Whittaker both marked absent today. No call-in from the parents.”
Beau’s jaw flexed. “Copy that, June. We’re almost there.”
“Ten-four. I’ll keep the channel clear.”
The radio clicked silent again, leaving only the hum of the engine and the weight of what they might be walking into.
The Whittaker place was quiet when they pulled up. Felicity’s gaze swept the front windows, noting the curtains drawn tight, porch light still burning though it was past ten. “That’s a bad sign.”
Beau knocked, firm but not aggressive. “Sheriff’s Office! Mrs. Whittaker, we need to speak with you.”
No answer.
He tried again, voice sharper. “Elaine, open up. Let’s talk.”
From inside, a muffled male voice replied, “We’re fine. Go away.”
Beau and Felicity exchanged a look. She tilted her head, listening. Faint whimpers — a woman’s, maybe a child’s — bled through the wall.
“Lance, we’re here to check on your family,” Felicity called, keeping her tone steady. “Nobody’s in trouble if everyone’s safe. Just open the door.”
A pause, followed by, “You take one more step, and someone gets hurt!”
Dread swept over Felicity, the incident eerily similar to a hostage situation in Denver. It also involved a fam—
Stop. Focus.
Beau backed them off the porch, already speaking into his radio. “We’ve got a barricade situation. Requesting backup. Alert State Patrol.”
While waiting for backup, both she and Beau donned body armor and checked their weapons. Within minutes, two patrol cars joined them, and deputies took positions behind vehicles.
Beau tried again, this time over the onboard PA. “Lance, listen to me. I know you’re scared. I need you to let Elaine and the kids come out. We can work this out without anyone getting hurt.”
From inside came the sound of something shattering, a child’s cry, and then — two sharp cracks. Shots fired. From inside.
Adrenaline surged through Felicity as she drew her weapon. The side door slammed open, and Lance Whittaker burst into the cold air, legs pumping, pistol glinting in his right hand.
“Sheriff’s Office! Stop!” Felicity’s shout cut through the yard, but Lance didn’t break stride.
“Dammit,” Felicity muttered, taking off after him, boots hammering the ground. A former halfback, Lance Whittaker was still in top form. He cut through the neighbor’s yard and across the street into another one. She was dimly aware of a man vaulting off a veranda and cutting across the lawn heading to Whittaker’s path.
It was Ronan.
Lance spotted him too and swerved toward the open gap between them. Ronan adjusted and the two collided, Ronan using Lance’s forward momentum to swing him off balance. Lance twisted, maybe setting for a spin, but Ronan dumped him flat on his stomach with a grunt. The pistol slid away across the grass.
For a beat, Felicity just stared, still reeling from Ronan’s lightning-fast reaction. When the man who already occupied far too much space in her mind grunted, she snapped out of it, rushing forward to wrench Lance’s arms behind his back, the cuffs clicking shut. He spat curses, twisting against her grip, trying to rise.
Ronan grabbed one arm, Felicity the other, and they yanked the man to his knees. “Stay,” she snapped.
