Paige inched farther in front of her daughter. "You're a part of what he was mixed up in?
Drug trafficking?"
"I travel enough to trade shows that no one questions the movements of my shipments, some of them from Kurt." Anderson shifted his 9 mm to the middle of Paige's chest, stalling any of Bo's plans to jockey into a better position. "Except he held on to the final payment. All the selfish bastard ever said was that he'd hidden the lockbox with the information and we'd never find it."
Watch. Wait. Paige was buying them time with her questions, answers hopefully floating right through the cell phone inside the open plane. He kept his hands loose, ready to act.
"But you had him killed so he wouldn't finger you."
"Not me. Higher-ups who didn't care about his money, small pickings for them. If they'd been a little more patient, we could have had it all. I was almost ready to give up on you and then your lawyer found that safe deposit box."
"How did you—"
"That little break-in put us onto your lawyer. Nice touch with stealing the drugs, don't you think? Anyhow, your lawyer had impeccable credentials—but his paralegal? Not so much. She rolled for a pittance."
"You set up the purse snatcher?"
"I couldn't take the chance you would turn the contents of the box over to the police."
Anderson stepped back, nodding to Eddie. "Enough already, for Pete's sake. There's no more time for finesse. Get to it."
The big blond guy with his bushy eyebrows knelt and peered around Paige's leg at the cowering kid. "Miss Kirstie Adella, let's talk some more about the poems and fairy tales your daddy mentioned in his letter. Did any of those include a buried treasure?"
The man tipped a knuckle under her quivering chin. Kirstie scuttled farther behind her mother.
Bo watched—still logical, still planning, even as he realized rage wasn't red after all. It was a deep purple, darkening his vision into a tunnel.
His world narrowed to the two females beside him. He would die before he let even one of these bastards hurt either Paige or Kirstie.
They were all going to die.
Paige couldn't ignore the obvious reality as clear as the determination in Bo's eyes. They were going to have to fight three armed men while somehow protecting Kirstie if the cops didn't show up very soon. These were heartless criminals who held guns on a child and sacrificed a helpless animal for their own greed. They were beyond reason.
Panic lashed through her even as she accepted there was no other way. But Bo wouldn't be fighting alone. She would claw her way through this for her child—and for him.
Bo had the training, so she waited for his cue to spring. She never once doubted that he would fling himself between them and danger. This man would never risk a hair on her child's head.
Paige gripped her daughter tight against her, fear icing her veins. What the hell had Kurt planted in that letter and in their daughter's memory?
Kirstie turned tearful eyes up, clinging harder. "Mama?"
Rusty vaulted forward, rough hands reaching to grab Paige's arms, twisting and tugging her around by pinning both wrists behind her until they burned in their sockets.
Bo growled. Kirstie whimpered.
Paige went slack in Rusty's grip before either of them suffered from defending her. She shuddered to think of how many trips she'd made out here alone to Chuck Anderson's place, this danger lurking. "It's okay, punkin. I'm all right. Go ahead and talk to him.">The Cessna descended toward the blinking runway lights on the earthen runway. The rear wheels kissed the strip with an end to yet another of Bo's flawless flights that inspired such confidence in his skill.
He slowed, the flared nose of the plane easing down. The plane's landing light stretched forward to reveal...a dead horse.
"What the hell is that—" Bo straightened in his seat and shouted, "Brace yourselves!"
Chapter 16
Damn, damn, damn it, they were going to crash.
Bo pulled back on the yoke. Not enough speed to take off. Too much to turn away, which would almost certainly start a tumble. But at least he could get the vulnerable nose gear up again—hopefully. The nose wheel would easily shear off, but the back gear should hold. A jarring way to stop, but a helluva lot safer.
"Come on, come on, come on. Up, damn it," he chanted to the straining Cessna.