out of his life—wasn’t really going to help him. But she’d just gotten an idea of what might.
She just wasn’t certain it would work.
Shamus started scowling as he continued to listen to his mother, and Mallory stayed put, eavesdropping unashamedly.
“No, Mom, don’t open the door to him. No one is supposed to be doing an article on me. I’ll be right there. What does he look like?”
He muttered “Uh-huh” a couple of times, and then his eyes, filled with alarm, shot up and locked on her. He moved the phone backward and mouthed, “Tripp.”
Tripp was at Mrs. Burke’s house? Why?
Bringing the phone back to his ear, Shamus gestured for Mallory to follow him. Leaving her coffee behind, she did, darting around a small group of people chatting in the aisle and listening to what he was telling his mother. It was easy enough with his commanding voice.
“Does he have a knapsack or any kind of parcel in his hands? No? Okay. Put as many walls between you and the front door as possible. Do not go outside. I’m only a few blocks away.”
On the sidewalk, Shamus broke into a run toward his nondescript sedan. Mallory followed just as quickly and slid into the passenger seat, her heart pounding. Why, oh why, would Tripp bother Shamus’s mother? Surely not to hurt her. Not another bomb. Shamus had lost his wife—he couldn’t lose another family member.
She didn’t think he could take it.
FOUR
Mallory spent the next few minutes getting Shamus’s handcuffs out of his glove compartment, calling 911 and remembering to brace herself whenever Shamus rounded corners, tires squealing. His eyes were set on deadly to mess with, and she wouldn’t want to be in Tripp’s position right now for anything in the world.
“If this is Tripp, he’s violating his probation for not reporting in after being involved in a major crime. I should call the boss.”
“No time. We’re here.”
She braced, and Shamus made a turn onto a driveway that led up a hill to a lovely, three-story home. An older, foreign-model car that obviously didn’t belong with the house was parked to one side at the bottom of the drive, and Mallory scanned the yard for Tripp.
“He’s in the bushes by the front door,” she said. As soon as Shamus screeched to a stop near the right side of the house, Mallory swung out of the passenger seat onto her feet.
“Mr. Tripp!” she called over the top of the car to her probationer. “Don’t move!”
Rounding the car and heading toward him, she noted that Tripp wore the same thin, close-fitting jacket he’d had on the last time they’d seen him, with no backpack, and no other obvious signs of a bomb.
Thank you for that, Lord.
Tripp bolted down the snow-covered lawn toward his car. She ran after him. Shamus easily passed her to tackle the other man. Snow packed beneath their body weight as the two of them rolled, but Shamus’s size and strength stopped Tripp from putting up a fight. Good thing, too, judging from the fury on Shamus’s face.
Shamus maneuvered himself upward, leaving one knee in Tripp’s back, and yanked on Tripp’s shoulders. “Did you plant a bomb here? Did you?”
Worried, Mallory’s gaze flew to the front of the house, checking every foot, then back to Tripp.
“You’d better tell him,” she warned. “If a bomb goes off, I can’t be responsible for what he does to you.”
Tripp shook his head furiously, fear pulsating from him. “I swear I didn’t plant a bomb,” he said, looking more miserable than he had the day of the bombing, if that were possible. “I wouldn’t have hidden in the bushes if I had. I have to stay alive to get my daughter back.”
Mallory believed him. She also understood the desperation he felt. She would have done anything to rescue her sister, if she’d just had the chance. But that didn’t mean she was going to put up with him ignoring the conditions of his probation.
Watching Shamus let Tripp fall back into the snow as he cuffed him, she moved around to kneel in front of them.
“Congratulations, Mr. Tripp. It takes a lot to irritate me, but you’ve officially done it.”
“I’m impressed,” Shamus told him. “I’ve been trying to irritate her for almost a month, and it still hasn’t worked.”
“You’re losing focus,” Mallory said, lifting her head to look up at him.
He winked, just to keep her off balance, and then patted their captive down for weapons. Nothing. Shamus gave their surroundings another glance. No backpacks that he could see. He jerked Tripp up by the back of his collar. “So why are you here?”
“I was ordered to come! My daughter’s kidnapper—he told me to pretend I was a reporter, to try to get information about you. That was all I was supposed to do.”
“How do you get in contact with him?” Shamus asked.
“I can’t tell you. He says he’ll kill me if I talk to anyone.”
Mallory pursed her lips. Tripp had just admitted he was holding back information about who was using him to threaten Shamus. She needed to get it out of him.
“What about your daughter, Mr. Tripp?” she asked. “Don’t you want to tell us what you know so we can save her?”
“I came here and did what the man said. He’s going to let her go. He promised.”
“You’re either incredibly naive or unfortunately stupid,” Shamus told him, rising and hauling Tripp to his feet.
As much as Tripp was irritating her, Mallory thought as she also got to her feet, she understood him. Tripp was merely hoping for the best. She understood hope, even if Shamus didn’t. For two days, she had hoped Kelly was merely lost somewhere and would come back home. There was hope—but there was also reality. Some people didn’t come back home, and right now, Tripp didn’t have the luxury of remaining silent, not when a life was at stake.
“You can’t count on the word of a kidnapper, Mr. Tripp,” she said, keeping her tone firm.
Her probationer’s face melted like a chocolate Santa held too long in a child’s hand. “I talked to Tara before I came here. She even said he promised to let her go if I just did what he asked.”
Mallory’s irritation grew. She wasn’t getting through to him. She had to. “Stop living in your fantasy world and tell me who has her, now,” she said, her voice intentionally sharp. She tried to rein in her anger, but couldn’t. “If you don’t do something, the kidnapper could kill her. You’re a father. Act like one.”
She caught sight of Shamus’s eyebrows rising in surprise, but she ignored him, focusing her gaze on Tripp.
Tripp shook his head miserably. “If I do and he finds out, he will kill her. And then he’ll kill me.”
“Fine.” She was done babying Tripp. “This other guy you’re so frightened of can kill you, but I can revoke your probation and spread the word in jail you didn’t give a hoot about your daughter’s life. Take your chances. Who are you more afraid of?”
She walked away, prepared to go immediately to her boss and put everything in motion to put Tripp back in jail. Taking deep breaths, she tried to calm down, but her heart squeezed in fear for Tara. Children should be protected, whether six or sixteen. Tripp needed to be scared. She’d done the right thing.
She hated this job right now.
“Wait!” Tripp called from behind her. She returned to where the two men stood, her back stiffened.
The words poured out of Tripp. “Friday, the kidnapper called me at my new job using my daughter’s cell phone. Didn’t