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“Damn it,” Hunter whispered. He bit at his lip.
Could he break in?
Yeah, if he did that, his dad and his uncle would kill him. How long had he been gone? They might be starting to wonder already.
What he needed was for Clare to come running out here with the gun.
He took a deep breath and blew it out.
And then he heard the yelling.
Hunter held his breath. He couldn’t make out words, but it was definitely a man, very loud and almost incoherent.
And then a girl’s voice, high pitched and almost shrieking.
Casper growled.
Hunter put a hand on the scruff of his neck. The air was whispering all kinds of hints about this altercation, and none of them were good.
Then a gunshot cracked the night.
Hunter dropped and dashed to the side of the house, staying low. The shot had come from inside.
The screaming had escalated.
Another gunshot. This round went through a window, because glass shattered and rained down on the patio about ten feet over from where Hunter crouched.
He could barely hear over his breathing.
More screaming. A woman, but Hunter couldn’t tell if it was Clare. No one was dead yet, because they sure were making a racket. Casper barked.
Another shot. A bullet hit the storage shed across the yard. Hunter flinched.
If that was the 9mm, there would be at least five bullets left, unless shots had been fired before he got here. He and Clare had fired two in the field, and now someone had fired three.
Hunter should have grabbed a bulletproof vest out of the locker.
He fished his phone out of his pocket. He started to dial, but the screaming upstairs cut off abruptly.
Casper growled softly.
Hunter held his breath again. If he made a call, they might hear him.
He didn’t exactly want to be noticed by someone shooting wildly.
He switched to text message and found Uncle Jay’s number—his dad’s texting was sporadic at best.
Shots fired at house on opp side dairy farm. Send help.
A text came back almost immediately.
U OK?
Hunter moved to text back, but another gunshot exploded somewhere above him. He shoved the phone back into his pocket and slid toward the front of the house.
The front door was half open, the lower level a well of darkness. Was this a robbery in progress? He might have believed that—if Clare hadn’t already stolen his gun. Hunter ducked inside. He waited for his eyes to acclimate, then eased around furniture toward the staircase.
Someone was crying upstairs.
