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He drops the two-by-four. At close quarters like this, he has no leverage to use it. Instead, he reaches for Dad’s .38 tucked into his pants. I grab the barrel and chamber in my fist, and jerk down on the gun while pulling up on the barrel. It’s surprisingly easy to rip a gun right out of someone’s grasp with this technique. He doesn’t even get a shot off. I aim the revolver at the center of his mask-covered skull, and he freezes.
Outside, I hear Willow’s tires kicking up gravel, followed by thepop popsound of the other guy shooting at her. The bulletsthunkinto the metal of the car and it continues to speed away.
The guy in front of me starts to speak through his mask, but I don’t have time to waste on him. I drive my elbow into his jaw as hard as I can and watch him slump to the floor. Then I dart out the door and through the house. Just as I get to the kitchen, the guy who ran outside runs back in. His eyes—the only part of his face I can see behind the mask—widen in surprise when he almost collides into me.
I drive my left fist into his mask and feel his nose crunch underneath. He falls back on his butt, putting his hands down to catch himself, the revolver still in one hand.
I aim Dad’s .38 at the wet stain in his mask from where his nose is leaking blood.
“Drop that gun,” I say. “You have one second or you’re dead.”
He tosses the gun away like it’s a piece of coal burning his hand.
“Did you hurt her?” I ask.
“No, man,” he says, blinking back tears, his voice nasally from the bloody nose. “Not even close. She’s heading to that house up on the hill.”
My house.
Keeping my gun on him, I shift my feet so I can see out the window. There’s just enough light left in the sky for me to see Willow slam the brakes outside my little cottage and run inside. That will be an awkward meeting between Willow and Megan, especially if Megan is actually in bed waiting for me—and depending on what she’s still wearing.
But at least Willow’s okay.
“You’re lucky,” I say to the guy.
There’s no telling what I’d do right now if he’d shot Willow. I’m so full of rage. Bad guys can come after me all they want, but when they involve the people I love, that’s unforgivable.
Keeping my gun on the guy, I reach over with my left hand and tear off his ski mask. He has short red hair, a peppering of freckles, and a gap between his front teeth. His lips and teeth are red with blood at the moment, but one thing’s for sure.
I’ve never seen him before in my life.
“Who sent you?” I ask.
He hesitates.
“Did Parker Longbaugh send you?” I shout.
“Parker who?” the guy says, and I’ve interviewed enough suspects over the years to recognize genuine confusion when I see it.
CHAPTER 29
AN HOUR LATER, I’m standing out in front of my parents’ house, holding an ice pack to my scalp, where one of the two-by-fours thumped me harder than I had realized in the moment, and directing law enforcement traffic. Local cops as well as Texas Rangers need to be told where to go and what to do. The night is pitch black, but the ranch is awash with flashing lights from police cars and ambulances. It breaks my heart to see my parents’ property roped off with crime-scene tape.
Before anyone got here, I managed to untie my parents, give them each a hug, then use the same ropes to tie up the two intruders. I ran up to my house to make sure Willow was okay. She was shaken up but not injured. Lucky for all of us that she came by to return Mom’s cookbook. The night probably would have turned out a lot differently if she hadn’t.
Since the police arrived, Willow and Megan and my parents have all taken turns giving statements. Now they’re outside, leaning against the split rail fence next to Mom’s garden. I can see Megan and Willow both doing their best to comfort my parents, talking to them, placing consoling hands on their backs, offering hugs when my mom is about to burst into tears again. Whatever awkwardness there might have been when Willow burst into my house to find Megan seems to be gone.
The two women make a good team.
As for the intruders, they are being tended to by paramedics under the watchful eye of police. One’s got a dislocated jaw, the other a broken nose, but considering what they did to my parents, they got off easy. I overheard one of the local cops say to them, “Y’all are lucky to be alive. Not many people draw a gun on Rory Yates and live to tell about it.”
Both intruders have been cooperative, but not very helpful. They don’t know who hired them. They were contacted by an anonymous phone number. A cash deposit was left for them behind a tree in Cameron Park in Waco. One of the guys is from Odessa, the other from Abilene. In time, we might find some connection between them and Parker, but it will take some digging. And for that to happen, it’s going to take more than just Carlos and me doing this on our own.
I’ll need to come clean with my lieutenant.
Ty Abrams is on the scene, chatting with a local detective, DeAndre Purvis. I approach them and say, “Lieutenant, you got a sec?”
DeAndre, a man I used to butt heads with but have since come to think of as a friend, recognizes his cue and takes a walk. Lieutenant Abrams studies me with a discerning stare. He’s a big guy with a thick gray mustache and a head as bald as a cue ball.
