Thank God.
"Me, too," Kirstie whispered. "What's going on? I'm scared."
He allowed himself a quick heartbeat of relief, holding the cell low and out of sight while he thumbed 911. "Paige, no matter what, keep Kirstie close to you."
Kirstie leaned. "Who are you c—"
The side door jerked open. Crap. He inched the cell phone under his seat and prayed someone was on the other end of the line listening. Tough to count on reliable cell tower coverage out-here, but he would relay as much as possible on the off chance the cops could hear. "Anderson, put down the gun. We don't want anyone to get hurt, Chuck."
There. He'd gotten both the man's first and last name out in a normal sounding way. He forced himself to think, stay cool. He wouldn't let this be a repeat of his capture in Rubistan where people were hurt because of his recklessness.
"We'll talk outside the plane." The twin beams of the Suburban headlights backlit the beefy farmer, casting his face in shadows. "Now put your hands where I can see them."
Bo leaned to climb out ahead of the others, keeping them inside the safety of the plane as long as possible.
Anderson shook his head. "Nu-uh, Rokowsky. Kirstie comes out first."
Eyes adjusting to the dark while Anderson lifted out the child, Bo studied the other two men—one of Anderson's stable hands in a repairman's uniform shirt holding a Glock.
Damned if he didn't look like the fast glimpse of the air show "Eddie" who'd spoken to Kirstie.
Bo checked the third and final gun-toting goon. The crummy substitute pilot? Rusty something-or-another, and he obviously had a connection to Anderson. Rusty wasn't messing around here either, not with an AR-15 held hip level. That assault rifle carried too much firepower for his peace of mind.
The odds were crap, three men with guns. There wasn't a chance in hell they would let them walk out of this alive, now that they'd been identified. Hopefully, the 911 call would net results. Fast. He'd left the phone on for the dispatcher to listen while he stalled and prayed.
If help didn't arrive in time out here in the middle of nowhere? He would have to take them all out. He'd kicked ass against larger groups than this growing up, and over things not nearly as important. In fact, there was nothing more important in his world than the woman and child with him.
Bo vaulted to the ground and reached back to grasp Paige's waist, lifting her out of the plane. Their eyes met and held in dim starlight. The gentle give of her warmth under his hands fired more resolve through him. He gave her waist a light squeeze and hoped it said enough. How he loved her, admired her. How he wouldn't let her or her child down.
Kirstie sniffled louder, hiccups turning into tears. She cried, extending her arms, damn near cutting Bo's heart out. "I want my mama! Eddie, tell these guys to stop."
"Make the brat shut up." Anderson shoved Kirstie toward her mother, all but dumping her at Paige's feet even while keeping his weapon level and steady. "We need her calm enough to talk."
Paige's arms went around Kirstie, tucking her close and behind.
Kirstie? They needed Kirstie to talk?
He would wager money Vic had been lured away on a bogus call tonight so Paige would have to come. Given the recent scare, she was certain to bring Kirstie along.
Anderson circled Paige, Kirstie scurrying in a circle around her mother's legs to escape.
"You could have made this so easy if only you'd let Rusty here fly for you. Or even if you'd spent a little time with me, leaned, trusted. I would have taken care of you and your kid. I've been patient for damn near a year now."
Logic shuffled the jarring pieces into place. Hadn't Seth's accident even occurred at the Anderson place when he'd fallen through rotten boards in a nearly new barn? Rusty must have been sent as a plant inside Paige's home for whatever hell this bastard had in mind.
Until Bo had ruined that plan by offering to fly instead. Could problems with the plane also have been a frustrated effort to run them out of business so she would need to "lean on him" as the bastard had put it?
Bo stepped between Rusty's AR-15 and Paige. "I don't know what the hell's going on here, but how about we let Kirstie climb into your Suburban—" which would offer more shelter from flying bullets "—and then we can talk."
Anderson's 9 mm never wavered from Kirstie, threatening the person guaranteed to keep them both in line. "I'm afraid we can't do that since apparently she has information good ol' Kurt failed to supply before he died."
What did Anderson and the two goons flanking him have to do with Kurt Haugen's dealings? "That's why you've been speaking to her?"
"Not at first. We just wanted to track her mother's movements in case anything new came to light about Kurt's finances." Angling closer to Paige, Anderson tsk, tsk, tsked. "That damn screwup died without telling us where he'd hidden the money he planned to use when he moved his family out of the country. Stupid fool. There's no getting out of this business once you're in."
Anderson glided his knuckles down Paige's cheek. A hazy red rage threatened to fog Bo's brain as he watched her struggle not to wince. The fighter inside him longed to lash out and end it now, but he wouldn't let impulsive arrogance dictate his actions now as he'd done in Rubistan.
Keep cool. Logical. Be patient and wait.