Barky moved quickly through the silent, isolated house and listened for sounds of any of the others. He found the old man out on the sun porch. Crockett, they called him. Given the opportunity, he would interfere—and Balaton would kill him. Barky could see both Ashley and David in the tall, scrawny figure. He was on his feet, looking impatiently out the screened windows, muttering to himself.

He turned at the sound of the footsteps behind him. “You!”

There was more hatred than fear in the black-blue eyes. So he knew the lies and believed them, Barky thought. He stepped forward. “There’s no time for explanations—”

“Bastard. You killed my daughter.”

“Achh.”

There could be no arguing with the man. Bartholomew Wakefield raised his powerful fist and swatted J. Land Crockett on the back of the neck. The billionaire sank to the floor in a crumpled heap of bones and dried skin.

The farmer slipped out the porch door. Now it was time to let Balaton find him.

Sarah Balaton had nearly cried out when Bartholomew Wakefield had knocked Crockett unconscious, but she held her breath as she watched from the hall. It couldn’t be! He was Barky, David’s uncle. She had slept in his house, made applesauce on his wood stove.

Poor David, she thought. Poor, poor David. What would she tell him?

She had to find him, talk to him...and her father. They had to know what kind of madman they were up against. But where were they? Her father must have known David was in danger from this insane uncle of his and had hidden him, helped him....

Quickly, refusing to consider the consequences of failure, she padded across the porch. Crockett was breathing steadily. Thank God he wasn’t dead. She felt a passing guilt for what she had thought him capable of, but it wasn’t her fault—and nothing, yet, made any sense.

She headed outside. The uncle was creeping toward the airstrip. It doesn’t matter, she thought. I won’t be afraid. If necessary, she would stop this Bartholomew Wakefield herself.

“So.” Barky walked out to the edge of the airstrip to greet the president and chief executive officer of Crockett Industries. “Now it’s just the two of us. As it should be. Yes, József Major?”

“I want the jewels.”

The farmer shrugged. “They mean nothing to me.”

Balaton’s entire body shook violently, but his knuckles were white on the handle of the gun. Barky refused to look at the weapon. He had seen guns before, witnessed what they could do, felt the burning pain in his own body. He wasn’t afraid. He hadn’t been, not for decades. It was one reason this Andrew Balaton had always hated him.

Barky pulled out the edge of his black jacket so Balaton could see there was no weapon inside. With Balaton’s nod, Barky removed the black opaque plastic bag in which he had put the tiara and the choker. He handed them across to Balaton.

Balaton took them, but there was no relief in his eyes. “I want the rest.”