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“I see it,” Ginny said.
“How do we contact your office?”
“We use the unicom frequency,” Ginny replied, dialing it into the radio.
“Call them, tell them to call the police and tell them to get a partrol car and two officers to the chief’s house, pronto.”
Ginny made the call.
“Good,” Holly said, “now land this thing on the beach. Tide’s out, and we’ve got hard-packed sand to land on.”
“We’re not supposed to land on a beach,” Ginny said.
“I’ll square it with the authorities,” Holly said. “This is police business.”
“I’ve got the airplane,” Ginny said, taking the controls. “We’re going in.”
14
Ginny made a turn and began losing altitude. “We’re going to pretend that the beach is the runway. From the direction of the waves, the wind is from the southeast, so we’re going to land to the south.” She made another turn and was now at right angles to the beach. “Now we’re on base leg, about to turn final for our runway.” She made another ninety-degree turn, aligning the airplane with the beach, and continued descending, out of five hundred feet.
Holly was looking for the van, but now it was hidden behind the house.
“Tighten your seat belt,” Ginny said. “We’re going to make a soft-field landing, which means I keep the nosewheel off the ground for as long as possible
before letting it touch down. If the sand is soft that will help keep the nosewheel from digging in and flipping us over on our back.”
“Swell,” Holly said, staring at her house. They touched gently a hundred yards north of the house, and Ginny eased the nosewheel onto the sand, which was wet and firm. As they swept past the house, Holly thought she saw a dark figure inside. She suddenly realized she was unarmed. Ginny braked to a halt and cut the engine.
“Stay here,” Holly said. “Don’t let the tide catch the airplane; that nearly happened to Jackson and me once.” She unfastened her seat belt, opened the door, and hopped out onto the sand at a dead run. Daisy was in the house, and Holly was praying that she hadn’t been hurt.
Holly reached the sliding doors that opened onto the beach, but they were still locked and couldn’t be opened from the outside. She saw Daisy lying on the floor, apparently unconscious, but she could not see the intruder. As she ran around to the front door, she wondered why the burglar alarm siren wasn’t sounding. She raced up the front steps, and as she did, the door opened and a man wearing dark clothes and a ski mask chose that moment to run out of the house, colliding head-on with her and knocking her off the front porch.
Holly struggled to her feet and started moving toward the man, who was moving toward where his van was parked. She ran after him, grabbed him by the shoulder, spun him around, and kicked hard at his knee. He grunted, and then she saw he had a semiautomatic pistol in his hand.
“Bitch!” he yelled, then slammed the pistol into the side of her head.
Holly fell to her hands and knees, crying out with pain, but she raised her head in time to see the man limp to the van, start it, and tear out of the driveway. Holly felt faint and collapsed onto her belly.
When she woke up, Ginny was pressing a cold cloth to her head, and two of Holly’s cops were standing over her.
“Are you all right, Holly?”
“I think so,” Holly said, sitting up. “Where’s Daisy?”
“She’s lying on the living room floor with a dart in her chest, out like a light,” one of the cops said. “She appears to be all right, otherwise.”
Holly tried to get up, but Ginny held her down. “Easy, there. There’s nothing you can do for Daisy until the drug wears off. Do you remember anything?”
Holly tried to concentrate. “A male, six feet, a hundred and eighty pounds, probably under thirty-five. He was wearing dark clothes, a mask, and gloves, so I don’t know about race. He drove a late-model van—the family kind, not commercial—medium blue or gray, windows darkened. I didn’t register the plate. His gun was a semiautomatic, looked forty-caliber, a little bigger than a nine-millimeter. That’s all I can remember.”
“An ambulance is on its way,” the cop said. “We need to get you checked out.” As he spoke, an ambulance turned into the driveway.
“I’m not going without Daisy,” Holly said. “Call her vet and tell him to meet us at the hospital.” She gave the name to the cop. “The number is in an address book on my living-room coffee table.” The second cop went to get it.
Two EMTs approached with a litter. They looked her over, and one of them put an ice pack against her head and told her to hold it there.
“I can walk,” Holly said.
