Mountain Witness Page 9

  He could see the indecision on her face, in the way she chewed her bottom lip as if debating her options. For a moment, he thought she’d turn and walk away. But then, very slowly, she put her hand in his.

  He couldn’t help but notice how soft her skin was and how good it felt to thread his fingers with hers. And from the way her blue eyes widened at the contact, he had a feeling she was thinking much the same thing—that it was nice holding his hand, too.

  A tiny red circle of light appeared on her forehead.

  He shouted a warning and yanked her toward him just as the front window exploded in a hail of rifle fire.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Stay down.” Chris yanked his gun out of his holster.

  Julie couldn’t have gotten up if she wanted to, not with two-hundred pounds of protective male squashing her against the hardwood floor.

  He rolled off her and jumped up in a half crouch, sprinting toward the window with his gun out in front of him.

  Bam! Bam! Bam!

  He fired through the gaping hole that used to be the front window, then dove toward the floor. Whoever was shooting at them outside let loose with another round of shots.

  Julie covered her ears and squeezed her eyes shut. Bits of plaster and wood rained down where the bullets strafed the walls above her. When the chaos of noise and dust had settled, Chris was once again crouching over her, his gun pointed up at the ceiling. In his other hand was his phone.

  “You okay?” he asked her.

  She felt as if she’d inhaled a lungful of plaster dust, but nodded to let him know she was at least alive. As for “okay,” she’d reserve judgment on that.

  “It’s Chris,” he said into the phone. “I’m over at Cooper’s farm, holed up in the house with Julie Webb. We’re taking rifle fire.”

  Julie looked toward the shattered front window while Chris talked police codes that made no sense to her. This low to the floor, she couldn’t see the road or even the acres of grass outside. All she could see was the wall of trees at the edge of the cleared portion of the property. Where was the shooter? Was he making his way toward the house even now? Ready to lean in through the opening and gun them down?

  She should have been terrified, melting into a puddle of tears and nerves. And maybe if this was the first time someone had tried to kill her, she would have been. But after everything she’d been through, and everything she’d lost, the only emotion flowing through her veins right now was rage.

  She was absolutely livid.

  If the shooter did lean in through that window, she’d try to tear him apart, limb by limb, with her bare hands. Assuming he didn’t shoot her first, of course. She was so sick of people trying to hurt her. And what about Chris? Once again his life was in danger because someone had decided to go after her, or at least that was what she had to assume. It made sense that between the two of them, she was the target. And here Chris was in the wrong place at the wrong time, again.

  “Give me your backup gun,” she snapped, as he ended his call.

  “My backup gun?”

  If their situation wasn’t so dire, she’d have laughed at the stunned look on his face.

  “You do have one, right? All the cops in movies and on TV have them. It’s probably strapped to your ankle. I may not be an expert marksman, but I do know how to shoot. I’ve been to gun ranges. I want to help.”

  He said something under his breath and she was pretty sure she didn’t want to know what it was from the exasperated expression on his face.

  “Unless you have law enforcement or military experience that I don’t know about, I’ll keep my alleged backup gun where it belongs. Come on. You can help us by getting out of the line of fire so I don’t have to worry about you. Our friend out there is going to get braver anytime now and I don’t want you catching a bullet when he does.”

  “Or she.”

  He nodded. “Or she. Come on.”

  He crouched over her, shielding her body with his as he duck walked with her out of the main room and down a short hallway. No more gunshots sounded from outside, which had her even more nervous. Judging by his worried look, it made him nervous, too.

  “In here.” He pushed her through a doorway into a bathroom.

  An old-fashioned claw-foot tub sat against the far wall, beneath a small, high window.

  “Get in.”

  He didn’t wait for her to figure out what he meant before he was lifting her and settling her inside the tub.

  “This is cast iron. It’s the best protection from stray bullets that I can give you.”

  The idea of bullets ripping through the walls hadn’t even occurred to her. The anger that had helped her stay calm earlier began to fade, leaving her shaking so hard her teeth chattered.

  “Wh-what a-bout you?” she asked between chatters. “Sh-shouldn’t you g-get in, too?”

  He’d been half-standing, peeking through the bottom of the window. But when she spoke he ducked down, an amused, half smile curving his lips.

  “As much as I’d love to join you in the tub,” he teased, “the timing isn’t right.” He added an outrageous wink and even managed a chuckle.

  She couldn’t believe he was flirting with her at a time like this—or that she found him utterly charming. She was about to tell him to knock it off and get into the tub with her before he got shot, when the sound of gunfire echoed through the house.

  Chris dove to the floor.

  A loud pinging noise had Julie throwing her hands over her ears and squeezing her eyes shut. The shots seemed to go on forever. When they finally stopped, she lay there, her breaths coming in great gasps, her hands still covering her ears.

  Forcing her eyes open, she pulled herself up to sitting. Sunlight slanted through small round holes riddling the outside wall. Paint chips lay scattered on the floor—the same color as the tub. That pinging sound she’d heard must have been a bullet hitting the tub. And she’d been safe, just as Chris had promised.

  But where was he?

  She looked through the open door into the hallway, but it didn’t have any windows and was too dark for her to see anything.

  “Chris,” she whispered, not wanting the shooter to hear her if he was close by. “Chris? Where are you?”

  No one answered. No footsteps sounded on the hardwood floor from the other rooms. Had he left her? Alone?

  She swallowed, hard, trying to tamp down the rising panic that had her pulse hammering in her ears. It was too quiet outside. Had Chris gone out there to confront the shooter? Had he been forced to dive into the hallway to avoid getting shot, only to catch a stray bullet? If he was lying past the open doorway, injured, he could be bleeding out right now. She couldn’t sit here and do nothing. She had to check on him, and if he was hurt, somehow she had to help him.

  Her whole body shook as she started to pull herself up on her knees in the tub. Something shifted against her leg and she let out a squeal of surprise before she could stop herself. She looked down. Chris hadn’t left her alone, after all.

  He’d left her his backup gun.

  * * *

  CHRIS EDGED HIS way around the back of the house, pistol sweeping out in front of him. He kept to the grass to make as little noise as possible. Leaving Julie alone inside had nearly killed him. But as soon as the bullets started coming through the wall, he knew it was only a matter of time before the shooter breached the house. Julie had a much better chance of survival if Chris could intercept the shooter outside.

  She’d have an even better chance if his SWAT team would get here.

  He checked his watch. It had only been ten minutes since he’d called them. Donna, Colby and Randy had probably been at church, which was a good half hour away. Max usually went to the evening service like Chris. But Max lived even farther out than the First Ba
ptist Church. Hopefully, his team was speeding toward him like a moonshiner running from a revenue officer. Still, best case, the first of them might arrive in another ten minutes.

  He and Julie didn’t have ten minutes—not against someone with a rifle and a laser scope.

  He ducked down and peered around the corner of the house. The side yard was empty and he couldn’t see anyone out front. But thick trees to his right marched all the way down to the gravel road. There were a million places for someone with a rifle to hide. If Chris couldn’t reach cover, and get up close and personal with the shooter, his 9mm was just about useless. What he needed was a way to draw the gunman out and keep him away from the house, and Julie.

  He eased back behind the wall, glancing toward the barn, his truck, the corral with the horses. They were nervous, agitated, running back and forth because of the gunfire. Too dangerous to try capturing one, let alone riding it to create some kind of diversion—assuming he could even make it that far without being picked off by the rifle. No, he needed something else to get the gunman’s attention.

  His gaze slid to the large silver propane tank set about fifty yards back from the house. It was slightly toward the right side of the property, close to one of the round hay bales drying in the sun. Acres and acres of wide-open field with more hay bales opened off to the right. And, past that, the barn and the horses—far enough away that they would be safe from harm, but close enough that the animals would be terrified and make their own racket. Dillon and Ashley would kill him for even considering what he was about to do. But he figured three traumatized horses in exchange for saving Julie’s life was a bargain he was willing to make.

  To his left, a deadly sprint from the house, the line of thick pine trees and oaks beckoned as cover—if he could reach them. Then he could circle around, locate the shooter and end this dangerous stand-off.

  He raised his pistol and aimed it at the propane tank.

  Bam! Bam!

  Chris jerked around at the sound of gunfire to his right. Julie was crouching in the back doorway, shooting toward the closest round hay bale. The long end of a rifle appeared at the left side, pointed right at her.

  “Get back!” Chris squeezed off several shots toward the rifleman to give Julie cover to head inside.

  But, instead of running into the house, she ran toward him, her eyes wide, face pale.

  Wood siding exploded close to her head. Chris fired toward the hay bale again and ran toward Julie. The rifle jerked back. Chris grabbed Julie around the waist and shoved her down against the foundation of the house while he kept his gun aimed toward the hay.

  “You need to get back into the house,” he hissed, without turning around. “Get into the cast-iron tub until I take this jerk down!”

  “Can’t.” She sounded out of breath. “I was worried you were hurt or needed help and was coming to look for you when the front door creaked open. Someone else is inside.”

  The rifle shoved through the hay. Chris and Julie both started shooting. Julie’s gun clicked empty.

  As soon as the rifle jerked back, Chris reloaded.

  “I need more bullets.” Julie ejected the spent magazine like a pro and held out her hand.

  “The extra ammo for that gun is in my truck.”

  She gave him an aggravated look that would have made him laugh at any other time. Most people he knew in this situation would be cowering in fear. Not Julie. She was full of surprises.

  A hollow echo sounded from inside the house. Whoever was in there was probably searching for Julie. If they came out back, the two of them were done for. They had to get to cover—now.

  He grabbed her around the waist, jerking her up to standing and pointing her toward the trees.

  She instinctively tried to crouch back down against the house. Chris pulled her up again.

  “Run,” he ordered. “I’ll cover you. Get to the trees. Go!”

  She took off running.

  The rifle shoved through the hay. Chris fired off several shots, drawing the rifle bore toward him. Bullets pinged against the house right beside him. He swore and dove to the side. The sound of running feet sounded from inside the house, coming toward the back door. In desperation, Chris swept his pistol toward the propane tank and squeezed the trigger.

  An explosion of heat and sound engulfed him, knocking him backward. His skull cracked against the wood siding, making his vision blur. He shook his head, trying to focus. A wall of thick black smoke and flames blasted toward him, offering him much-needed cover. Pushing away from the house, he took off in a wobbly run toward the trees.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Julie peered around the same tree as Chris, looking toward the house and the burning remnants of the propane tank.

  “I think the explosion took out the rifleman,” Chris said. “The hay bale where he was hiding is obliterated. The question is, where’s the second intruder?”

  A shiver ran up Julie’s spine. “I suppose it’s too much to hope that the first gunman just got knocked out.”

  Chris looked at her over his shoulder, his brows raised. “You’re worried about a man who tried to kill you?”

  She shrugged, feeling silly. “I just don’t like the idea of being responsible for someone’s death.”

  A shuttered look came over his face. “Seems like I remember you thanking God yesterday after your husband was killed.”

  She jerked back, feeling his censure like a physical blow. “I never wanted Alan to die. I was thanking God that Alan couldn’t hurt me again. But I didn’t mean I was glad he’d been killed.”

  Chris’s face softened. “It’s not my place to pass judgment either way. I shouldn’t have said anything.” He turned back to the house, intently watching for signs of any gunmen.

  Julie felt sick inside that he’d thought she was grateful for Alan’s death. That was an awful thing to think about someone. Yet, here he was again, protecting her.

  “Why?” she blurted out before she could stop herself.

  “Why what?” Again, he didn’t turn around, just kept his gun trained toward the house.

  “Why are you helping me if you think I’m the kind of person who would rejoice over my husband being killed?”

  He sighed heavily and reached toward her. “Take my hand, Julie.”

  She hesitated.

  “Please.”

  His tone was gentle, imploring. She shoved her useless empty gun into the waistband of her khaki pants and put her right hand in his left one.

  He tugged her up beside him, still not taking his gaze from the dying fire and the building.

  “I’m a cop,” he said. “A detective. It’s my nature to doubt everything, to assume the worst. It’s how I stay alive. Yes, I thought you were happy that your husband was dead.” He glanced at her. “I also thought you might have planned the whole thing, moving in next to a cop and arranging that confrontation when you knew I’d be home.”

  She gasped and tried to tug her hand out of his grasp, but he tightened his hold.

  “I don’t think that anymore. Okay? I saw the truth in your eyes, heard it in your voice back in the house when you answered my questions.”

  His thumb lightly brushed the underside of her wrist, doing crazy things to her pulse and her breathing.

  “You’re a victim—”

  “No. I am not a victim.”

  He squeezed her hand. “You’re right. You’re not. You’re a witness, and a strong woman. Most people I know, most men I know, would have stayed in that bathtub. They wouldn’t have gotten out because they were worried the police officer protecting them might need help. And the moment they heard someone else in the house, they would have frozen or run screaming. Instead, you covered me. You kept that rifleman busy when I was focused on shooting the propane tank. I might have saved you yes
terday. But you saved me today. You’re one of the bravest women I know. And, trust me, my respect for you has grown exponentially this morning.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered, her throat tight. “And I do trust you.”

  He smiled and faced the house. Then he stiffened and pulled his hand from hers. “The second gunman’s making a run for it. He’s heading for the barn.”

  Julie leaned sideways, trying to see what he saw.

  “Wait here!” Chris sprinted past her, arms and legs pumping as he ran toward the house. He stopped at the far corner, sweeping his gun out in front of him.

  The horses let out shrill whinnies and bolted to the other side of the corral, as far from the barn as they could get. A dark figure seemed to materialize from out of nowhere, running around Chris’s pickup toward the barn.

  Chris dropped to his knees, aiming his pistol with both hands.

  The sound of a distant siren filled the air, coming up the road.

  “Yes, hurry. Please,” Julie whispered, praying that help arrived soon. It was killing her watching Chris risk his life like this.

  He fired off several shots. A metallic ping sounded from the truck where a bullet buried itself in the driver’s-side door, narrowly missing the gunman.

  The man returned fire. Chris let loose with a volley of shots. The gunman clutched his shoulder and spun around, dropping to the ground.

  Chris took off, legs pumping like a champion sprinter as he ran toward the truck. Julie clutched the tree as she watched, bark cutting into her fingertips. The siren was much closer now.

  The gunman rolled beneath the pickup, firing a couple of quick shots of his own. Chris dove toward the questionable cover of the fence, bringing up his pistol again. But the gunman had rolled out the other side.