Every Second

Lori thought of Grant and Monica Miller sleeping peacefully a few feet away, unaware of the horror playing out in the house beside them. Grant was a mechanic, Monica a nurse. They had little girls. Grant had loaned Dan his generator when they lost electricity in that storm last month. In the spring, Monica had come over to check on Billy when he was running a fever. The Millers were the kind of people who’d go out of their way to help you.

They’d call the police, if they only knew.

In the Tudor home across the street, their neighbors were Ward and Violet Selway, a retired couple. The kindest people you could ever meet. Ward had been an accountant years ago. Violet had managed a clothing store at the Roseoak Mall. Their son lived in Oregon and they spent winters in Clearwater, Florida. Lori had always admired their beautiful yard, and Ward would give her gardening tips. Violet was always baking cookies to share with Billy.

Oh God, if our neighbors only knew!

Lori ached to wake from this nightmare and return to the normal life they’d been living less than an hour ago. It wasn’t perfect, but they’d been doing okay since everything they’d been through in California. They’d finally been moving on.

Lori’s attention shifted to the storage area on the far side of the basement. Pieces of our lives. There was the closet filled with clothes, Dan’s old shirts and suits and some things of her own. Things she was certain she’d never wear again. Why do I keep them?

But she knew the answer. Because of Tim. She reminded herself she had to give all that stuff away, as if any of that mattered at this moment.

Beside the closet was a shelving unit jammed with boxes of board games, lamps, radios, computer keyboards, extension cords, cables and replacement bulbs for the Christmas tree. Rows of old books and stacks of ancient magazines cluttered the rest of it, along with photo albums containing a record of every year of their lives.

Except for...

Lori shuddered. Stress had always been a trigger for these memories, pulling her back to a darker time. In a flash she saw herself...

Sitting in the street, covered with blood, helpless to do anything...

Up until then she had been a whole person—a confident, strong woman who could handle anything the world could throw at her.

Until that night six years ago.

Lori flinched at the sound of movement above them, snapping her mind back to reality.

She was as familiar with the noises and rhythms of her home as she was with the back of her hand. The strain and measured creaking of the floor indicated that the men had gone to the top floor. Maybe they’ve taken Dan back to the bedroom? Soon, more groans and squeaking indicated the invaders had returned to the main floor. Next she heard muffled conversations, though she couldn’t make out the words. But as the voices echoed through the vent nearby, Lori guessed they were discussing a strategy. No matter what their plan was, she didn’t believe it included letting her family live.

She pressed her cheek to the top of Billy’s head, then examined their vests more closely. There was a small red light blinking from a battery pack on each of them, flashing in time with her heart, ticking down, second by second.

4 (#ulink_98e57863-54c9-5741-a301-d42e23127524)

Roseoak Park, New York

Dan’s heart hammered against his rib cage.

He stared at the ceiling, his hands bound and his mouth still covered with tape. His feet were now chained to the footboard of his bed. He wrenched against the shackles until the metal cut into his skin, drawing a rebuke from Percy, the captor guarding him.

“You need to be sharp in the morning. Be smart and sleep.”

How could he sleep knowing bombs were strapped to his wife and son? Again, Dan raged against the chains, but they held him firmly in place, and soon he slumped back into the mattress, exhausted and defeated.

These animals invade my home and what do I do? Do I protect my family and fight? No, I watch them become weapons.

The images of Lori and Billy in suicide vests tormented him. Each passing second threatened an explosion that would kill the two people he loved most in this world.

As the hours slipped by, the quiet of their suburb mocked the reality of his situation. His pulse roared in his ears. No matter how hard Dan tried to find a way to fight back, he came up empty.

It’s because I’m a coward.

Once he’d been a trained soldier, a “weekend warrior” with the California National Guard. But that was years ago. The only action he’d seen was wildfires and mudslides. He hadn’t been deployed to Afghanistan or Iraq, like other units who’d been tested in battle. He’d often been told he was on standby to go—and during those weeks tension had knotted his stomach.

Because deep down, he was afraid.

It wasn’t the risk of dying that had overwhelmed him; he’d accepted that being a soldier might mean not coming back. In fact, coming back was what actually terrified him, the possibility of being permanently damaged—not just physically, but mentally—and not being able to deal with it. He’d never told anyone about his secret relief at not being deployed.

Now he was being tested again, and he was failing.

His home was under attack and he’d done nothing to stop it.

Trained soldier, my ass.

He didn’t even have a gun in the house because Lori didn’t want one. Dan understood. After everything she’d already been through and the price she’d paid, she was justified to feel that way. And back then, in her time of crisis, she’d taken action. His faced burned with shame, knowing she was stronger than he was.

A bark from somewhere outside made him think of his neighbors. They’d know what to do if they were in his shoes.

Miller, a mechanic covered in tattoos—that guy could fix anything, and Dan knew he would’ve fought back against these men. So would Ward, a retired accountant who’d done two tours in Vietnam.

That’s the kind of men they are.

Dan stared at the ceiling.

The seconds ticked by.

And what kind of man am I?

* * *

By sunrise Dan was grasping for hope, telling himself that his chance to act might come later, and he had to be ready for it.

After hours of dark silence, he jumped when the door opened and Vic kicked his bed.

“Time to get ready.”

As Percy unshackled Dan’s feet, Vic stood over him.

“You look like hell. Get up.”

Dan stood, but shakily. His head was still sore from being pistol-whipped.

“You’re going to go through your routine like this was a normal day,” Vic said. “We’re going to free your hands and mouth first. You’re going to shower, shave, get dressed, have breakfast and go to work like any other day, and you’re going to follow our instructions to the letter.”

Vic motioned toward Percy, who held up a cell phone.

“If you try anything, anything at all, Percy will hit Send on a speed dial number and your wife and son are gone. There are no second chances. You got that?”

When Dan nodded, they removed the tape from his wrists and mouth.