When they reached the trees surrounding the little open ground before the cabin, Jackson turned to Herbert Lansing’s spirit.
“Time for me to go to work!” Herbert said, giving him a knowing nod.
He headed across the open ground and disappeared through the cabin wall.
In two minutes, he was back.
“One man, he has his hood off, his gun in his lap, though he doesn’t need it—the kids are still tied up and gagged . . .” He shook his head. “Wet gags—the little ones are still crying. But there is no sign of Robert Welborne. Still, one guard . . .”
“Thank you, Herbert! We’ve got it!” Angela said. She looked at Jackson. “I’m less intimidating,” she told him, and he knew exactly what she was saying. They had worked together forever.
“I don’t know about you being less intimidating,” he teased lightly.
Herbert frowned. “Son, you’re what? Six-three, toned and muscled with those cool Native American cheekbones and—”
Jackson and Angela laughed. “I’m married to her! Trust me—she can hold her own. But in this instance . . .”
They went to work. He hurried quietly over the wall by the door to the cabin. When he was in position, Glock ready, Angela moved into the clearing calling out, “Hey! Please, I’m so lost! Is anyone in there? Can you help me? I need to find the road!”
In another life, she might have been an actress, Jackson thought dryly.
At first, there was no response. She screamed louder.
And the door open, the cabin “guard” apparently worried that her scream might bring others into the area.
“Miss, please, shut up!” the man said as he opened the door to step out.
His mistake. Jackson slid his Glock to the man’s temple warning, “Drop your weapon this second.”
He was one of the kidnappers, dark eyed and olive skinned, possibly of Italian or Northern African descent.
And he did want to live. His eyes closed. The gun dropped.
“Hands behind your back, on your knees . . .”
Jackson didn’t need to go any further. The man had given up. Angela rushed around him into the cabin. Jackson could hear the kids; they were screaming at first, then sobbing with relief when they realized she was the law, and they had been rescued.
With the man handcuffed, Jackson pulled him to his feet.
“Where is Robert Welborne?” Jackson demanded.
“I don’t want to die!” the man screamed.
“You won’t die; we need to get you into protective custody if you’re on a payroll with a killer, and we can even help youthough kidnapping is a heavy charge. You want help, you’ve got to start helping me. Now!” Jackson informed them.
“I don’t want to die!” the man repeated.
By then, Angela was out of the cabin with the children, ushering them by. “I have Whitney waiting to collect the kids and get them back to their grandparents, police escort!” she told Jackson. “Local feds ready for him.”
He hadn’t noted in the immediacy of taking down the kidnapper that Herbert’s spirit wasn’t with them. But as he looked around, the spirit came running out of the woods.
“I think I found him!” Herbert exclaimed.
“What?”
“There’s another cabin, old, rotted, due to be torn down. It’s on the park’s schedule for next week. But right now . . . something is going on there. I mean, this place is derelict, but there’s all kinds of metal workings and tubes and cylinders . . . and Robert Welborne—I’m assuming it’s Robert Welborne—is there working with a gun to his head! I’ll lead you there!”
“One sec; we’ll wait for Angela!”
