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A pistol emerged from the stairwell, pointed at her, the deputy blowing like a whale, the gun moving slightly with his panting. She’d been right to be nervous. She pressed the third nine and the double star. Metal hissed, snicked, and banged, locks securing and metal shutters dropping into place, including all around the observation deck. Lights flared, compensating for the lack of sunlight, the jerk of the gun in the man’s hand relaying his jolt at the noise.
“Well, well, old Jeff was right. It is you.” The man sneered. “Drop the phone. Then put your weapon on the floor and kick it over here.”
Wiz didn’t move. If the man was friendly with her ex-husband, he’d be a bragging jerk, not a competent marksman. “Who are you? I don’t know you.”
“Don’t you? I know you. Biblically, that is.” He chuckled. “We had a good time. Well, I did. Oh, that’s right, you don’t remember it.”
The man who assaulted her downrange. Ice shot down her spine. But he’d just confessed on video.
He waved his pistol. “Drop the weapon and the phone, then the clothes.” He motioned with the gun again. “I can shoot you in the leg or the shoulder and not ruin the fun.” He raised the pistol. “Then the evidence will all go up in smoke. Such a shame.”
She didn’t bother responding verbally. She dropped the phone, letting it clatter on the floor, and reached for the buckle on her cowboy rig. She unfastened it, watching the man’s eyes drop to her hand. She let the end fall from the buckle, his eyes following the snapping end of the belt, then returning to her right hand. She slid her right hand down, slowly, while moving her left up and behind her. She grasped her backup pistol at the small of her back. With a snap, she tossed the gun belt at the man and ducked. Fire erupted from the barrel of his weapon. She drew her backup weapon, aimed, and fired.
Two to the chest, one to the head, just like they’d been taught in training. Just like she practiced every week, right- and left-handed. The man dropped to the floor with a thud she heard over the ringing in her ears.
Keeping her backup weapon trained on the man, she retrieved her phone and belt. She kicked the still smoking gun out of the man’s hand, not that it mattered with the holes in his body and the growing pool of red below him, and buckled her gun belt. Then she replaced her backup piece and got extra magazines for both weapons from the gun safe on the wall, jamming them in her back pockets. Only then did she take a moment to consider her attacker’s words. The man knew Jeff. Was Jeff driving the four-wheeler and setting the fires, or was her attacker working with more people? She’d assume the worst, that both her ex and others were involved.
She checked the laptop; people were inside her security fence, running to her house, her gates hanging open. The 999 code had locked all access points and notified her security company along with Tom and Dad, but determined people could break through, regardless. She drew her primary weapon and entered the stairs, padding quietly down. The second level door was secured properly. She’d climb into her basement safe room, but since she’d just killed a deputy sheriff, law enforcement probably wouldn’t be responding unless it was with a SWAT team, even though the man had clearly threatened her and confessed to his previous crime. And they should be busy with the fires, evacuating people and saving lives. She could save her own and save her property, too.
Tom would have seen the alert, but he was busy with the ranch. And she didn’t need his help, even though she desperately wanted him near. She pushed her longing away. She had a job to do. She sent him a text. “I’m safe. Attacker dead. More outside, but I’ve got it.”
Unlocking the door to her office, she jogged to her desk and brought up the surveillance outside the house. Men swore, banging and jerking on the doors. She turned up the sound a little to compensate for the ringing in her ears. She’d never fired a weapon without hearing protection.
A tow truck stood in front of her house, a stranger hooking chains to her front door latch. They must have used the tow truck to pull her gates down, too. Jeff, the tow truck operator, and three more men stood near the truck. The operator got in the truck and drove forward, yanking the latch off the front door. Four men poured inside, only to pound on the inner door. Wiz smiled grimly. With a tow truck, they’d get that one off, too. But getting upstairs would take some work. She’d wait a little longer before going to her safe room.
Her phone buzzed with a text from Tom: “On our way.”
She sent one back with a picture of the truck and the five men. “I’m safe in the office. Route to safe room clear.”
A metallic screech and bang signaled the removal of the inner entry door lock. Time to make life more difficult for the attackers. She turned out all the lights on the first floor. With the metal shutters in place, it was darker than the inside of a cow. The swearing increased dramatically. Then she pulled up a spooky soundtrack used for haunted houses and played it on all the first-floor speakers at a barely audible level. She chuckled, although her laughter was a little... off. Which wasn’t surprising; she’d just killed someone and more were attacking her.
No. Don’t think about the past. Focus on the mission. Stay alive. She brought up the infrared cameras on the first floor. She only had a few, but they were sufficient to show the bumbling of men into furniture. The designer thought she was crazy, refusing to leave a clear area between the front and back doors, but her reasoning had just proven correct.
Her phone buzzed with a text from Ryan: “On our way. Status?” Tom or Sam must have told him what was going on because Ryan wasn’t on her notification list.
She sent back: “Coordinate with Tom.” Then she started a group text with Tom, Ryan, Erin, and Sam. “I’m secure on the second floor. Fence gates and front doors yanked open. Five men on the first floor, lights are out, metal security shutters down.”
Tom added Pete to the text group. Surprising; Dad hated texting. “Pete Borde; I’ve got exterior command. Stage at Borde ranch house; text with ETA, names, weapons. Wait for assignment. I’ll coordinate with law enforcement.”
Wiz grinned. Dad had just learned the advantages of texting—informing everyone quietly and quickly. Her smile fell. She hated that the older man had been drawn into a battle; he deserved a safe, quiet life after surviving Vietnam. Only her stupid, selfish ex could do such a horrible thing.
Light flared on the monitor, and she switched back to visual cameras overlooking the stairway door. They’d finally remembered their phones had flashlights and they huddled. She turned up the sound level on the closest microphone, but it created some static and the soundtrack interfered slightly.
“...just got to get out, man!” That one was clear; the man was panicking.
“Calm down. Just got to shoot the lock on the stair door, and we’ll get her, and she’ll give us the money.” Jeff’s voice was instantly recognizable. She still couldn’t believe she’d fallen for the idiot.
“No, man, you can’t shoot out a lock, and my chain won’t reach this. I’m not using the truck to smash through the place either. My boss would kill me. I’m out.” One man dropped something to the floor with a clatter and ran to the front door.
She sent a text. “One outbound, probably in a tow truck.” When her house was clear of attackers again, she had to add a microphone so she could talk over her speakers. But if Jeff’s phone number was the same, she could call him. She dialed on her tablet, wanting her phone free for texting.
An obnoxious rap song pounded her ears, and she turned the speakers down. Jeff jumped, one of the others smacking his arm. “Why wasn’t your phone on vibrate? Dumbass.”
Jeff answered. “Hello?”
She made sure her words were clear and cold. “Jeff, you have one chance. Leave now, or you’re all dead. Your buddy the deputy is already dead. I’ve got a team outside, ready to accept your surrender. If you stay, you’re clearly a threat to me, and I will take you out. Do you understand?”
“I understand you owe me!”
