Beneath her socked feet, the old wooden floorboard on the threshold between the kitchen and the rear hall squeaked. Target reached, she mumbled something about checking on the kids, and entering the dimly lit danger zone, she pivoted and ran for the staircase.
Heart pounding, she took a quick look back and saw him framed in the entryway. He didn’t rush to advance. Didn’t matter. She took the treads two at a time and sprinted for the second-floor bedroom assigned to her.
Once inside, she pulled the rubber door stop from her sweatshirt pocket and jammed it into place, effectively barricading herself in her room. There were no locks on any of the interior doors, and she carried the Dollar Store safety device everywhere she went in case she had to secure herself in a jiffy.
Best ninety-nine cents she’d ever spent.
Looking at Summer like she was out of her mind, Mrs. Wagner had refused her request for a locking knob, or better yet, a deadbolt on her bedroom door. Sacrilegious. Why would anyone want to damage a one-hundred-year-old piece of wood with original hardware?
Why?
Because her husband was a creeper—that’s why.
The black oak floor creaked and groaned as John made his way down the hallway, the sounds pausing outside her door.Her stare locked on the barrier between them, she shuffled to the bed, and fingers sliding between the mattress and box spring, she pulled out the antique hoof pick she’d found in one of the barns.
Made of iron, the six inches of heavy metal would pack a wallop if it connected with his head. If. Two problems with her strategy, she grazed about five foot four if she stood at attention and weighed about the same as a newborn kitten.
He was taller, stronger, and carried a hundred pounds more than she did.
Didn’t matter.
She had no intention of going down without a fight.
The knob rattled and took a slow spin. Her last breath stuck painfully in her chest; she tightened her grip on the pick as her heart beat a rapid staccato against her ribs.Please. Please. Please. Let the door stop hold.
A child’s voice called out, “Daddy!”
Yes!Summer’s limbs turned to jelly. Saved by a four-year-old.
Duffton Wagner had impeccable timing, or maybe a sixth sense, or the excitement of decorating the Christmas tree this morning had kept him awake. Whatever the reason, he was her mini-savior as he chattered on about Santa Clause and ponies. Careful to ensure no part of her makeshift weapon remained visible, she replaced the hoof pick under her mattress and crossed the room.
Rubber stopper back in the pocket of her hoodie, she opened the door. “Summer!” Duff squealed, reaching for her from his father’s arms. John loomed over her, his expression promising a next time, his hand brushing against her breast as he transferred the weight of his son to her.
From anybody else, the contact would’ve been incidental.
Not John Wagner.
He’d brushed her boob on purpose.
Creeper.
No doubt about it, the sooner she put the Silver Buckle Ranch in her rear-view mirror, the better off she’d be.
* * *
Behind his wallof computer screens, Jay Mann squeezed the fuck out of his wireless mouse as he watched a very different video than the live feed being broadcast by the CNN Breaking News team out of Boston.
On the ground, reporters focused on the aftermath of the shootings, scrambling to make sense of the attack at the Mayor’s Christmas tree lighting ceremony, followed by the slaughter outside the Massachusetts General Hospital.
The images were horrifying. The numbers of injured and dead rising with each update.
Safe and secure in their isolated Montana headquarters, the members of the JTT and their partners sat around the boardroom table in stunned silence. They already knew Kosamina Snow was dead. A pregnant ER doctor killed while trying to save lives, she’d become a notable tragedy among the victims.
Now they waited, gazes glued to the big screen for Jay to confirm their worst fear.
According to eyewitness accounts, one man had single-handedly ended the Mass Gen massacre. His stomach bottoming out, Jay watched his best friend take a bullet to the knee and then another to the abdomen as he went down, rolled onto his back, and fired three shots.
The gunman staggered a step back with each round that hit him center mass, and then he crumpled to the ground, his reign of terror ended. Job done, Jamie’s head dropped with his hand, and he lay on the pavement bleeding out.
