“Your kid?” she said so quietly he had to read her lips.
His throat closed. He was a moment before he could say, “My kid.”
“Are you waiting for Duncan?” Lia asked.
Conall didn’t want to wait for anything. His body was primed to move. Every second that passed felt like an aeon. But he had to have more backup than Jeff in case things got really ugly.
“Yeah.”
“Is Jeff?”
“If he sees anything, he’ll call me.” He patted the cell phone hooked on his waistband. Jeff could use the night-vision scope and keep an eye from above.
He saw Lia’s shudder and hoped Walker hadn’t felt it. She stood then and said, “Okay, kids, you heard Conall. Into the house.” Her voice was admirably steady.
The wait felt interminable, but was no more than another five minutes.
Conall wasn’t surprised that Niall had come with Duncan along with the same detective who’d been here before. They decided that once Conall started up the Suburban, Duncan would use the cover of engine noise to get his SUV and bring it in close. Conall would make the first approach.
As they conferred on the porch, Conall was aware of Lia standing just inside the screen door, listening. Her fingers were pressed to her lips as if that was the only way she could contain a sob or a scream or a plea. He looked directly at her once, nodded meaninglessly and went.
He drove the way a frantic father might, skidding as he made the turn from dirt onto gravel, gunning the engine and sliding to a halt with his bumper inches from the neighbor’s garage door.
He took the steps to the front door two at a time, jammed the heel of his hand on the doorbell and held it, listening to the peal inside repeating itself shrilly. It had to be a minute before the door swung open.
“Who the hell—” Cufley said. He wore rumpled khaki pants, and an unbuttoned plaid shirt. The kind of thing a man might yank on when the doorbell rang in the middle of the night. One hand gripped the door, while his other arm stayed stiffly at his side, that hand hidden by the angle of his body.
Conall’s adrenaline surged, but he didn’t let his awareness that this creep had a weapon in hand affect his own performance. He knew his hair was disheveled and he looked distraught.
Maybe because he was.
“Listen, buddy, I’m sorry if I woke you up, but didn’t you hear your dogs barking? One of our kids sneaked onto your property.” He ran a hand over his face. “His little brother woke me up. He’d dared Brendan to sneak over here, touch the house and make it back without alerting the dogs. God!” Frantic slid seamlessly into threat. “If they’ve hurt that kid— Those aren’t attack dogs, are they?”
“They are trained to be guard dogs, but I imagine if you go home, you’ll find your kid.” His eyes narrowed. “I thought that lady ran some kind of foster home.”
“She does. We’re getting married and adopting the boys. Their mother died—” He broke off. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve got to find him. Can you call the dogs in?”
“The kid’s not here,” Cufley insisted, trying to sound irritated but not a good enough actor to disguise his nervousness. “I heard the dogs, that’s why I’m dressed. I went out and nobody was there. If you go home, you’ll probably find the boy already there.”
“He’s not there,” Conall said stubbornly. “You’re lying.”
The guy’s face flushed. “What is your problem, buddy? I’m going to call the cops if you don’t—”
“Yeah, why don’t we do that?” Conall said softly. The guy started closing the door and Conall shot his foot into the opening. He said loudly, “I’m going in,” and grabbed his Glock even as he slammed his shoulder against the door and crashed into Cufley. He had the barrel pressed to Cufley’s chest before he could get his own gun up.
“Brendan!” Conall yelled. “Where are you?”
He thought he heard a muffled sound coming from downstairs in the split-level house but wasn’t positive. Duncan’s SUV was sliding to a stop behind his and the three men leaped out, weapons in hand. Conall gestured for one to go each way around the house, while Niall joined him.