Page 115 of Sing Me Home
“We can use the stock office entrance,” he said. It connected directly to the barn and had access to the hayloft—a perfect vantage point. “A couple of us can go up top.”
“What do we do after that?” Liam asked.
James’s forehead furrowed, thinking. In the rearview mirror, I caught Liam and Griffin wearing similar expressions. Theo was typing on his phone like mad, hopefully drafting that text to our parents.
I glanced over, about to ask James to say a prayer, but his head was already bowed, eyes closed, lips moving.
As we crossed the footbridge that connected the ranches, it felt like every board screamed our arrival. We had to stall so Liam could open the gate and close it again. We didn’t have time to chase cows today.
When we got to the obstacle course, it felt twice as far from the barn as normal. But it was the best choice. I knew that in my gut.
“I cannot get hurt,” Liam whisper-shouted as we jogged up the hill. “This is not in my contract, y’all.”
“You say that like the rest of us are expendable,” Theo said with a huff.
“That’s not what I meant,” Liam said.
“Chill, guys.” James took charge. “Cash, any idea what we’re doing when we get there?”
I glanced at him, heart in my throat. “I thought you had a plan.”
He brought his chin down, eyes laser-focused on the barn that had just come into view at the top of the hill. “The plan is…we wing it.”
“That’s not a plan!” Griffin said in a suffocated voice.
“God is the plan,” James said.
“Wake that fool up!” Someone shouted in the barn.
We came around the end of the building on tiptoe and paused by the stock office entrance so I could type in the code. 1990. The door unlocked and we soundlessly stepped inside. An argument leaked through the wall.
“You can’t have it both ways,” Charlie said, and I relaxed the tiniest bit, knowing she was okay. For now. “If I ask my dad or uncles for that much money, they’re going to want to know why, they’ll check my location, and head over here. There’s no way?—”
“Stop screwing around!” one of the thugs yelled. We all froze. “I know you both have trust funds or whatever. Wire me the money or else!”
“You kidnapped the wrong Duprees, bro,” Bowen said with a huff. “My dad’s a high school principal and my mom teaches yoga. I don’t have a trust fund.” He conveniently left out their full-service gym that did quite well and their herd of cattle. But yeah, all of that combined didn’t add up to an income that provided trust funds for four kids.
James mouthed,we’re heading up. He pointed to me, then gestured for the others to stay put. We climbed in silence, every step a gamble. I wished I came equipped with floorboard sonar. Somehow, we made it to the top unnoticed.
I’d never been so thankful for a set of grandparents who couldn’t part with anything. The loft was cluttered with boxes and containers of Granny and Gramps’s old books, VCR tapes, holiday decorations, and cookware. James and I peered around a pillar of storage totes full of plastic easter eggs.
Dead center in the aisle below, Lorne lay lifeless, facedown on the ground. In a clown costume. I would’ve guffawed if the situation weren’t so tense—and if I didn’t loathe him so much. Dead or still passed out, I didn’t know. Right now, I was hoping it was the former. He’d brought danger down on Charlie’s head twice now, so…
On Lorne’s far side, Charlie and Bowen sat together, hands bound behind their backs from the looks of it. Charlie’s shoulders were curled in, eyes darting like she was calculating a way out. Bowen, on the other hand, looked too fiery for his own good.
A bald man in a button-down prowled between them and Lorne, his eyes flicking back and forth. Two more men, one tall and lanky, the other stocky and stout, stood on each side. And they were armed. My eyes shot up to the ceiling where, as Bowen had said, there was a hole in the roof, letting the sunlight in.
Gramps is going to be ticked, James mouthed.
But that was the least of our worries.
“My parents don’t make as much as you’d think,” Charlie said. Besides…they just paid off all my medical bills,” she lied, her tone laced with accusation. “I was in the ICU for weeks, remember?”
The stout guy swore. “She’s right. She did almost die. It’s ’spensive to almost die. Remember that time I got shot in the stomach?”
“Your parents are famous authors, though,” Baldy said to Charlie. “Their books were made into those spy movies. Your family’s loaded.”
“You’re the daughter of Ashton and Tally Dupree?” Lanky asked giddily. “Like your parents wrote theSpy vs Sighseries?” With a gun hanging loosely in his hand, he made the mind blown gesture.
