No Fault of Mine

Chapter Forty-Seven

I was beginning to think Ducain wasn't as good as his domino metaphor suggested. My life had been threatened for the second time in less than two hours.

I hadn't expected to be included in Ducain's get-away plan—heaven forbid. But now that we had a solid reason to believe Ducain planned to fly to freedom on a plane with space for four, including a pilot, my internal alarm had risen to DEFCON 1.

Would he let us walk away, or did his plan include murder? He murdered my husband. At least, I'm pretty sure he did, despite what he said earlier. In any case, he was no stranger to murder so I expected murder to be one of his optional dominos.

What options did we have?

Waiting for him to decide our fate was not my first choice. I'd already disturbed his neat little plan, and now I wanted to disturb it even further. But we weren't the A-Team: we lacked firepower, good health, and combat skills. Though Uncle Liam had military training, now in his sixties with his shoulder blown out, I doubted he could fight off three fit men in their thirties, and I certainly wasn't a fictional action figure with superpowers.

I looked around the cabin. There were two hatches. In the darkness, I explored the contents of the first by touch and recognized a rope, netting, and tools. I opened the second and found emergency supplies: a fire extinguisher, first aid kit, and life preservers. The cupboards had the usual supplies: cookware, table service, towels, enough mugs for a small army, and non-perishable supplies. A set of knives was among the cookware. I slipped knives between the cushions next to Liam and Aunt Bea.

"I was quite the athlete back in the day," Aunt Bea said. "Perhaps there's a little of that left."

"Having a tool or two handy," I said, "just makes sense."

I returned to the cupboard, took a small knife, and slipped it between my belt and belly.

"If it comes to it," Liam said, "cut my feet loose first."

"Will do," I said.

I removed the fire extinguisher from the hatch and slid it between the broken cabin door and the couch.

Brant pulled himself into the corner of the couch. I sat next to him, and he leaned into me.

"Mom, I'm scared," he said

"Me, too, Brant. We'll get through this; it'll be a story to tell your children."

"And your grandchildren, right, Mom?"

I pulled him closer. He didn't realize the significance of his statement.

A half-hour later, I heard the engine's RPMs drop, and there was a slight inertia shift as the boat slowed. A small porthole above the couch provided a limited view of our surroundings. We were approaching a boat launch. Someone in dark clothing and a Western hat walked toward the end of the dock. Though I couldn't see his facial features, his swagger was definitely that of my brother.

I emerged from the cabin and was confronted by TJ, holding a knock-off AR-15 across his chest. 

Ducain ordered TJ to watch me from the wheelhouse, and TJ sneered at me.

Micky stood at the gunwale with lashing in his hands. As Ducain guided the boat alongside the dock, Micky tossed the mooring line to the cowboy on the dock, who I now recognize as Thad. 

He caught it and looped it to a dock cleat. Micky jumped to the dock and waited next to Thad as 

Ducain emerged from the wheelhouse, leaving the engine idling.

TJ looked away, and I took advantage of the moment. I dashed past him and jumped onto the dock. Startled, Thad looked up. His expression quickly turned into a smirk. I wanted to slap off his face.

"What the hell?" I said through a clenched jaw. "What's going on, Thad?"

"Ms. Stoddard, please stand back and let the men talk," Ducain said, stepping beside me.

"Don't condescend me!" I said seething. My skin felt electric, and the arteries in my neck pulsated with blood fired by anger. I knew I was taking a risk, but at this point, I didn't care about risk. I cared about answers. Turning toward Thad, I said, "Explain what's going on, Thad."

TJ stepped between Thad and me.

"It's okay, TJ," Ducain said, grabbing my arm.

"I'll not be put off," I said, trying to brush him off, but his vice-like grip tightened.

"You're not in a position to make demands," Thad said. "I've put up with your erratic behavior for long enough. I tolerated Martin and your interference, but I'm more than done with that."

A feeling of dread replaced my anger. "What are you saying? Are you in with Ducain?"

"Even at this point, you're unwilling to give me credit for what I've done?" Thad asked.

"Credit? Credit for what? Bankrupting our business?"

"This isn't the time for a family squabble," Ducain said sharply.

"It's my family," I said. "If this concerns Thad, it concerns me."

Thad snorted and then gave a Jabba-the-Hutt laugh.

With a snarl, Ducain said, "We don't have time for this. Did you bring what I requested?"

"Your call wasn't so much a request as a threat," Thad said, "and I resent that."

"You resent it, do you?" Ducain said, feigning a smile. "I've about run out of patience, Thad. Where is it?" His voice could've curdled blood.

"There's a duffel bag in my pickup," Thad said, nodding toward the parking lot.

"Micky," Ducain said, flipping his head toward the truck. Turning toward me, he said, "Ms. Stoddard, of course, it concerns you, but it's too late to discuss it now. The time for discussion is long past."

"Is this what you'd planned?" I asked. "All this for fifty thousand? All the pain you've caused us and the risk of your exposure for a measly fifty thousand?"

"Shut up," he growled and dug his fingers into my flesh.

Micky pulled a duffel bag from the pickup, jogged back, and dropped it at Ducain's feet.

"Check the contents," Ducain ordered.

Micky pawed through the bag and announced, "It's all here but the box."

"Check again," Ducain said. Turning to Thad, he said, "Where's the box, Thad?" Ducain pulled his gun from his belt and held it to my neck. "It may save your sister's life."

"Yeah, well, my sister's not part of the deal," Thad said.

"If you think you can mess with me, think again," Ducain growled and added, "TJ, check him out."

TJ ran his hands over Thad's clothing and pulled a handgun from his jacket packet. After tossing it into the lake behind the boat, he pushed Thad toward Ducain, who still held his gun against my neck.

"Thad, what are you doing?" I said between gritted teeth. "Give him the box!"

"She's right, Thad," Ducain said, relaxing his grip. "Let's settle this, and we can move on."

"You don't have much time, do you?" Thad said. "Are those sirens I hear?"

"Thad!" I yelled again—my heart was in my throat.

"Nothing here but the cash, Boss," Micky said. Stacks of banded money were aligned next to the bag.

"This could be so much simpler, Thad," Ducain said, frowning. He leveled his gun in Thad's direction and pulled the trigger.