If I Should Die_ A Novel of Suspense - Allison Brennan [114]
Omar bared his teeth, breathing hard, his eyes narrowed. “Yes. Sir.”
Noah stepped back and Omar put his hands on the bar and looked down. “If you only knew how many deaths Sampson Lowell is responsible for.”
Noah offered his understanding. “We’ll get him. It might not be tonight, but we’ll get him.”
“Before how many more people die?”
“Are you with me? Or do I have to lock you in the storage room?”
“I’m with you.”
“Good, because we’re short on numbers and I need everyone working together.”
Lucy had some sympathy for Omar and his fury at Sampson Lowell. There were some people in the world who didn’t deserve to live, who were individually responsible for destroying the lives of countless others. There was no doubt in her mind that Lowell was one of the few so evil and ruthless, he needed to be destroyed. And she wished she could be part of taking him down, because she had known others, like him, who were so deadly that the justice system wouldn’t be able to stop them.
But love had to win over hate, and saving Sean took precedence over stopping a bad guy.
“There will be another chance to take down Sampson Lowell,” Lucy told Omar. “But if Sean dies, he won’t have a second chance.”
After Adam left Tim at the lodge, he drove his old beat-up four-wheel-drive truck as close to the Callahan property as he dared. He didn’t know what kind of security Bobbie and her people had surrounding the place, but if Gary Clarke and the others were still at the Fosters’ house, at least her team was divided. He knew these woods as well as anyone who had grown up in Spruce Lake.
The only way to get to the house and rescue Henry and Emily was to run through a clearing. He’d been in the house several times in the past, and from this angle, he could see the kitchen and living area brightly lit on the right, and a dim light on the opposite side of the house. All blinds were closed, and he hoped Jon was right that Henry and Emily were in the downstairs bedroom.
He sprinted across the clearing toward the faint light on the left, praying he wasn’t shot in the back.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Tied to a chair in the Callahans’ dining room under the reproduction of The Last Supper, Sean had been watching Bobbie Swain for two hours. She was a walking contradiction—strategic about her business, but with no common sense. Her voice had a melodic lilt, but her words were crude. She was volatile, but maintained a tight control over herself, so tight that Sean could see the battle raging behind her green eyes.
In fact, her temper was simmering, ready to boil over. She was having a harder time controlling herself, which could be problematic. When she was in control, she was shrewd and smart; when she was out of control, she was more of a loose cannon.
He needed to use Bobbie’s temper against her, but how? An explosion brought his strategizing to an abrupt halt. Bobbie completely lost it. Any chance of calming her down or reasoning with her was gone.
She knew exactly what had happened and who to blame, which made Sean think the explosion wasn’t wholly a surprise.
“I want Jon Callahan here!” she screamed at the guy named Ian. “He’s the only one who has access to my explosives. I never thought he had the balls to fuck with me.”
“Omar is out looking for him.”
“Callahan walks in here, he’s dead. The deal is OFF! You think Sampson is going to show up now? Do you know what Callahan has done? I had it all planned so perfectly. I would have slid into Sampson Lowell’s operation so smoothly I would have ruled a bigger kingdom. I will slit Callahan’s throat!”
“Bobbie.” Ian’s voice was calm, but Sean saw the concern in his eyes. “We should disappear. There will be cops and Feds swarming this place in under an hour.”
“No, no, no!”
Ian was right, but Bobbie wouldn’t listen to him.
“I know this area better than anyone,” Bobbie said. “I’ll get out just fine even if there are a thousand cops! I want the rest of the explosives, I want my money,