2

“Sarah,”

the ghost whispered to her. “It’s Sarah!”

“Sarah, hey!”

Angela said. “I’m so sorry, but I’ve been going crazy. I haven’t been able to find my phone, and Jackson suggested I might have left it over here the other day, that maybe it fell by the sofa where I was sitting. I know it’s Thanksgiving; I’m really so sorry to bother you, but please, may I come in and look! Oh, I know you have guests, and I do apologize!”

The woman was trying so hard to behave normally, but Angela’s request left her staring into space.

Then a man spoke.

“Sarah, invite your friend in!”

“Oh, thanks! Like I said, I’m so sorry to interrupt you all!”

Angela said. As she stepped in, she smiled at the man who had spoken, taking in the rest of the Rodger’s living room as well.

Only one man. And Jimmy’s dad was seated in a chair near their mantle.

She was sure that meant that the second perp was in a room—with Jimmy. And the threat was surely that Jimmy would be killed if there was any problem.

“They have my grandson!”

the ghost said with dismay.

“I’m Angela, from across the street,”

Angela told the stranger, shaking his hand.

He was a young man, mid-twenties, she thought. Dark shaggy hair, light brown eyes, about five-eleven and slender. He appeared both hardened and angry and somewhat anxious.

Drugs, she thought. And that’s what it might all be about. Jimmy’s dad was the manager at a jewelry store—one that carried precious stones and high-priced jewelry.

“Yeah, you’re pretty rude,”

the man said. “Find your phone and let us get on with Thanksgiving!”

“Again, I’m sorry!”

Angela said. “I’ll try to hurry!”

She heard a squeaking sound, as if a chair had moved. The sound was barely discernible, and she hoped that no one noticed it—or that she had heard it.

The sound didn’t seem to register to the man or to Sarah Rodgers.

Sarah just stood there, silent.

“Oh, man, I’m sorry, too!”

the man told her, probably realizing that if he was trying to appear like invited guests—and keep from anyone else knowing that something sinister was going on—he needed to be a bit more polite. “I’m Joe. Joe Smith.”

“Joe. Nice to meet you. Thanks—and thank you, Sarah!”

Angela said. She hurried over to the sofa, dropping low to search the floor, hoping the ghost would join her.

He did. “Get to Jackson. Tell him front bedroom,” she said.

“Right!”

the ghost said. “They moved him, they moved our boy!”

The ghost left her. Angela continued to make a show of searching for her phone, and then finding it.

She stood, pretending to just talk “turkey”

with Sarah Rodgers while she studied the man in front of her, trying to determine if he had a weapon on his person.

The odd thing was that it appeared as if he did not.

But then he twisted, and she saw that he had a small handgun stuffed into his waistband at the back.

He didn’t need to wave it around.

If another man had a gun on her son, there was no way on earth Sarah would do anything other than exactly what she was told.

“So! Sarah, I understand Jimmy has fallen in love with the turkey you decided you wanted to feed yourself before Thanksgiving. Did you decide to let him keep the animal as a pet?”

“I . . . well, I mean, a turkey,”

Sarah murmured.

“We wanted to take out that bird the minute we got here!”

the man who had introduced himself as Joe said lightly. “It’s a turkey, not a pet!”

“Hey, people have dogs, cats, horses, lizards, parrots—why not a turkey?”

She asked, grinning.

“Because it’s a turkey!”

Joe exclaimed. Then he frowned. “Then again, you’re right, living, breathing . . . well, lots of things we eat are or were . . . I mean, I love turkey. But I guess if a kid is in love with a turkey . . .”

“He needed something,”

Sarah said softly.

“Well, we didn’t kill the turkey,”

Joe muttered.

Then Angela heard it, the commotion from the bedroom.

Jackson had figured a way in.

She drew her own gun before Joe could go for his.

“Don’t make me shoot you, please, Joe. I think you may be a nice guy. A nice guy in need of some serious help. It’s so easy to have drugs with friends as a lark—and then find out you’re addicted, and they then become expensive as hell while they’re killing you!” she said.

His hand was on the hilt of his gun.

“Maybe I should just die,” he said.

“No. Living, breathing—and our moms always said it—while there’s breath, there’s hope!”

She prayed he wouldn’t pull the gun. She would defend the family under attack first; that’s what law enforcement had to do. Defend the innocent.

But in a few minutes of studying the man, she had developed a certain—strange, perhaps—empathy for him.

People could too easily become addicted. And it didn’t make them worthy of death. Not that they set out to kill anyway, but she believed somewhere, deep within “Joe”

there was a good heart.

His hand twitched over the butt of the gun.

“Joe,”

she said quietly. “You don’t really want to die.”

He laughed. “You can’t tell I’m an idiot jerk. If I go to prison, someone will shiv me for sure!”

“No, Joe, that’s not true at all. Please, please, drop the gun!”

Angela said. “I can talk to the district attorney, I can help you, get you real help, medical help—and mental help!”

“Who are you?”

he asked, confused.

“I’m a federal agent. And I’m telling you the truth. Joe, drop it. Please, I can see you’re a decent guy caught in bad circumstances.”

“I never wanted to hurt anyone!” he said.

“I can see that. Please. Drop the weapon.”

He winced and did as he was told. Thankfully, just in time, because Jackson strode out of the hallway to the bedrooms, Jimmy Rodgers ahead of him with one of Jackson’s hands on his shoulders.

Jackson wielded his Glock with the other.

“It’s good; we’re all good here,”

Angela said quickly.

Sarah Rodgers cried out and raced toward her son, taking him into her arms as tears streamed down her face.

“Backup is on the way,”

Jackson said. He looked at her and walked toward Joe.

But Jimmy squiggled away from his mother, rushing back toward Jackson. “Don’t hurt him—he’s the one who saved my turkey!”

Jimmy cried.

Joe shrugged. “I thought it was dumb when Jeffrey wanted to shoot the bird. Why kill the dumb bird and make a lot of noise neighbors might have reported? Besides, the bird is kind of . . . well, it seemed to like the kid. That’s why we had to tie it to the tree with that little leash thing the kid had.”

“Please, don’t hurt Joe!”

Jimmy repeated.

“I won’t hurt him,”

Jackson assured the boy. “I promise. We’re just going to make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone else.”

“He won’t. Go easy,”

Angela said softly. “And the other—”

“He can’t hurt anyone—an ambulance and backup are coming. He’s not that bad; he might have a broken jaw. I had to hit him—couldn’t risk alarming anyone out here with a shot. We have another serious problem.”

“And that is—”

Angela began.

“Oh, my God! My husband,”

Sarah said, holding Jimmy more tightly.

“My dad!”

Jimmy cried. “My dad; the other guy took him to the store so that he could get him into the vault.”

“Other guy—”

Angela began.

“Third in this group,”

Jackson said.

“The one who made us do this. But he’s vulnerable,”

Joe said, swallowing hard and offering his wrists to Jackson so that he could be cuffed. “He’ll call. The guy in the bedroom is Jeffrey Uxbridge. We were supposed to . . . threaten the kid until he had the vault open. Then, um, take care of things here and join him.”

“So, he won’t have backup now,”

Jackson said. “But it’s a store in the mall, cameras and security, I would imagine.”

“That’s why he had to go in with Mr. Rodgers,”

Joe told him. “Rodgers is supposed to go in all cheerful and say he just needs to get something for a customer.

Angela looked down for a moment. Thankfully, they’d come when they had.

Because she understood what Joe was saying. Once the vault had been opened, the two here were supposed to have killed Jimmy and Sarah and then gone on to help with the jewelry heist.

“We need officers or agents in here—”

Angela began.

“On the way. We need to move on—as in the two of us. Because we have help,”

Jackson reminded her softly.

She hadn’t realized their ghost had followed Jackson in.

“And I will help get my son!”

the ghost told her passionately.

She nodded.

Officers and agents arrived; Angela was glad one of their key people, Bruce McFadden, was among them. She explained she wanted real help for Joe. He promised her he would do what was necessary to get him into a medical facility within the law enforcement system.

“I don’t know the other guy; I haven’t even seen him,”

she admitted. “But I do know the signs of a dug addict needing a fix. And I believe he’s only here because of that.”

“I swear!”

Joe whispered. “And thank you.”

Angela looked at Sarah, hugging her son, at Joe . . .

“The guy in the bedroom?”

she asked. “He . . . he would have killed us!”

“I don’t know,”

Joe said. “He, um, he was supposed to.”

Sarah was holding Jimmy, sobbing softly, when Angela and Jackson managed to escape.

With their ghost in the backseat.

The mall was close.

They reached the parking lot in a matter of minutes.

“All right, police and a few agents are already in the mall, watching the store. Rodgers and his captor arrived just a few minutes ago—we were lucky we discovered Jimmy had disappeared when we did. There are three employees in the store along with Rodgers. We need to get them out . . .”

“So, let’s be in love!”

Angela said.

“What? I mean, we are in love, but—”

She laughed. She had taken her partner and husband by surprise.

“You’re going to buy me a massive diamond because we’re going to have the wedding of the century!”

she explained.

“Sure! On our federal salaries. Yep. And we’ll honeymoon around the globe, right?”

“We need an in. There could be other customers in there, too, all in danger.”

“I even understood all that!”

the ghost said.

“And she’s right,”

Jackson agreed. “I guess I’m going to need to be rich, really, really rich!”

“Hey, it’s a fun idea!”

Angela assured him.

Jackson was quickly on the phone, advising the local detective who had ordered his people to the Rodgers’ house and the mall what their plan was.

The detective was agreeable; he had eyes on the store, and there were two customers inside as well.

His people would wait until he had a signal from Jackson. They wanted the situation to end without anyone getting shot.

“Shall we?”

Jackson asked.

“Oh, we shall!”

the ghost told them. “By the way, I’m Arnie Sr. My son is Arnie J. I’m glad they finally changed and called Jimmy the incredibly new and different name—Jimmy! And my son must live!”

he added passionately.

“He will,”

Angela promised him. She turned to Jackson. “Although, hm, I’d rather have a gigantic emerald instead of a diamond. Or maybe a sapphire—sapphires are so pretty!”

she told him.

“Whatever!”

he said, laughing.

He took her hand. And swinging it, he headed into the store.

Two young women were looking in a showcase that highlighted semi-precious stones in different settings, rings, necklaces, bracelets, and even key chains. One employee, nervous and ill at ease, was with them.

The ghost of Arnie Rodgers, Sr. quickly hurried through the store and into a small hallway that led to the back offices.

And the vaults.

Neither Mr. Rodgers nor the other two employees were in the showroom.

“They are in the back,”

the ghost whispered, hurrying back to them. “At gunpoint,” he added.

Jackson gave him an imperceptible nod and looked at Angela. They were ready to go.

“Hey! We need some help here! My wife wants the biggest emerald in the place!”

Jackson said.

She glanced at him, then lowered her head, grinning slightly despite the gravity of the situation. She was going to tell him later that he did rich and obnoxious far too well!

But the uncomfortable employee who had been helping the young women looked up at him with panic on his face.

“Sir!”

“I have cash, cash, do you understand? Darling, see to whatever you would like.”

Cash. There was surely not a better way to draw out a thief!

She gave him a nod, pretending to look at the jewelry in all the cases, but moving toward the wall against the little hallway that led to the back offices—and the vault.

The thief played right into their hands. Forcing Mr. Rodgers ahead of himself, his gun against the man’s back, a tall, rough-looking man in his thirties emerged.

But he didn’t get far. He started to speak, ready to demand Jackson’s cash or he’d start shooting.

He never got a word out.

He’d glared at Jackson. He never saw Angela behind him against the wall.

She slammed the butt of her Glock down on his head so hard that he reeled, his handgun falling harmlessly to the floor and sliding across the linoleum as he stumbled against the wall and fell to the floor.

Jackson retrieved the fallen gun.

The police moved in.

“Thank you!”

Artie Rodgers, Sr. the ghost, and Artie Rodgers, Jr. the man who was alive and well, said the words at the same time.

Angela and Jackson smiled at one another as the police moved in, taking control of the situation.