Easing the door open, she slid into Aiden’s room, and cringed when her bare foot kicked something, and it rolled across the floor. The movements downstairs halted, and she waited, breath held, until she heard footsteps going toward the kitchen.
She picked her way carefully across Aiden’s room. Damn it, it was like moving through a minefield, with balls, toys, clothes, shoes and everything else strewn across the floor. She told herself now wasn’t the time to notice a messy bedroom.
She placed her hand over Aiden’s mouth and gently shook him awake. He jolted, eyes blinking, and she held her finger up to her lips. When she was sure he was properly awake and alert, she leaned down to whisper in his ear.
“Someone’s in the house. We need to get Katie.”
Aiden’s eyes widened, and she saw the understanding, the fear creep in. He nodded, and she pulled his covers and helped him climb out of the bed.
“Stay with me,” she told him, and he nodded, his gaze focused on the door. She clasped his face in her hands, forcing his attention back to her. “I mean it, Aiden,” she whispered. “You do exactly as I say, okay? We’re going to be fine.” She couldn’t afford for him to take one of his rebellious stands, not now, not tonight. He nodded, and she winked, trying to edge out the fear she saw in his eyes with a little calm, a little confidence.
“Good. Let’s go.” She didn’t want to mention that her stomach was tied in knots so tight she thought she’d be bringing up her dinner. They crept through his room, and she paused at the door, cracking it open to peer into the hallway, listening. For a moment she couldn’t hear anything, then a slight clatter broke the night. She frowned. That sounded like maybe … the kitchen?
The door opposite Aiden’s opened, and Katie stepped out, yawning and rubbing her eyes.
Steph’s eyes widened and she stepped forward hurriedly as Katie blinked and saw her, then opened her mouth to greet her. Steph clapped a hand over her mouth and picked her up, carrying her back into her room, with Aiden close behind.
She set Katie on her feet and knelt down, hand still on her mouth, and held a finger up to her own lips. “Shh.”
Katie’s eyes widened, and she saw the glimmer of tears. “It’s okay, pumpkin. Shh.” She moved back to quietly close the door, then brought the children in close.
“I need to call for help, but the phone is in my room,” she whispered.
“I’ll get it,” Aiden said immediately and Steph shook her head. She couldn’t, wouldn’t ask him to do that. She couldn’t ask him to tiptoe through the house with an intruder about while she cowered in his sister’s room. Not going to happen. And she couldn’t very well have them all trooping down the hall to her room—what if the intruder decided to come upstairs? She hid her shudder by rubbing her arms.
“No, I’ll do it, but I need to make sure you’re safe. You need to hide.” She glanced around Katie’s room, and frowned. There wasn’t much offered in the way of a hiding spot. She thought of the bed, but frankly, that would probably be the first place she’d look. She beckoned them over to Katie’s wardrobe and quietly slid the hangers across, her teeth biting her lip as she tried to silence any clatter. She tucked each child in against the wall, then arranged the clothes to hide them as much as possible. She used Katie’s shoe box to hide their feet.
“Stay here and don’t move until I come back, okay?”
Both children nodded, hugging each other as she moved the final dress in front of them to hide their faces. She closed the closet door, then tiptoed down the hall. She flinched when she heard something break downstairs. Whoever was here wasn’t trying to be very quiet. Well, if they were, they were lousy at it.
She slid into her room and crossed to the cordless phone on her nightstand and hurriedly dialed 911.
“This is 911, please state your emergency,” the calm voice of the operator echoed in her ear, and Stephanie winced, turning the speaker volume down on the phone.
“We’re at 225 Ridgefork Lane, someone’s inside the—”
The phone clicked in her ear, and then she heard nothing. Steph pulled the phone away from her ear to look at it, then pressed the call button a couple of times. Nothing. The phone was dead.
She covered her mouth as fear swamped her. Oh, God. She couldn’t call for help.
* * *
Jackson sighed gustily as he headed home, his windscreen wipers catching at the falling snowflakes, his headlights illuminating twin spheres flecked with white on the otherwise dark road.
It had been a long day. The call out to the Hitchin’ Post Bar had ended in two arrests, involving a trip to the County lock-up. Too much paperwork for the night before Christmas Eve. He wanted to go home, kick his boots off and crack a beer. He ran a hand over his face. Tomorrow night his mom was organizing her infamous Christmas Eve feast—the one that preceded the Christmas Day feast. He’d promised to hang her lights across the porch, and so far each attempt had been interrupted by a call out. He smiled. Well, he’d save it for when his brothers arrived, and they could all do it together. He’d moved back from Houston after his father died, to be there to support his mother. She’d told him in no uncertain terms that she didn’t need babysitting, and the sheriff needed to live closer to town, so he thought he had the best of both worlds, living close by but not with his mother—because that never sounded good to the ladies, no matter which way you tried to spin it.
His three brothers, though, lived further away, so he was looking forward to them coming home for Christmas.
He wondered what Stephanie Farrell would be doing for Christmas. There weren’t any Christmas lights up at her home, he’d noticed. Maybe he should swing by tomorrow and offer to help?
“Sheriff King, are you still in transit?”
He sighed again as he leaned forward to grab the radio. “Yes, Maxine, I’m still here.”
“We have a possible 10-35 at 225 Ridgefork Lane. We’ve received a 911 call, but it was disconnected.”
He pulled his car over to the snowbank on the side of the road. Crime in progress—at Stephanie’s place. “Have you tried calling the home?”
“Yes, sir. The line appears to be have been disconnected.”
He spun the wheel, tires spinning as he turned the cruiser back in the direction he’d come. “10-4, on my way.”
He pressed his foot on the accelerator, driving as fast as the conditions would allow. He’d attended too many crime scenes during his job as a homicide detective in Houston. Just the thought of what could be happening was enough to make his stomach coil like a copperhead snake.
Stephanie and the kids were in trouble. He thought of Aiden, the boy who’d sat in his car just that afternoon. He was a good kid; he was just working through some crap events. God he hoped the boy was all right. And Katie—she was such a sweetheart, so gentle. Visions of Stephanie, her honey-brown hair tumbling down her back, her blue–gray eyes dark with interest, with awareness. He pressed down harder on the accelerator.
* * *
Steph stood at her door, listening. The lump in her throat grew when she heard the familiar creak of the third stair. Oh, God. He was coming upstairs. Or they. She had no idea how many intruders there were. She looked about wildly for a weapon, and grabbed at the slingshot on her nightstand. She didn’t have any guns in the house—had never seen the need. She couldn’t go out the door—whoever was coming up the stairs would see her immediately. Panic rose like a cold wave. The kids. They were probably scared out of their minds, huddling in that closet—and now an intruder stood between her and her children. She stuffed the slingshot into her back jeans pocket and scurried over to the window. Biting her lip, she lifted the sash and stuck her head out. They were quite a distance from the nearest house. She could try yelling, but not only would that give her position away to whoever was climbing those stairs, she may not actually be heard by anyone in the street. Then what would happen to Aiden and Katie? The wind outside had picked up, and the snow was falling heavier.
She slung one
leg over the sill, then the other, dropping down to the roof over the porch.
Her bare feet slid across the snow-covered shingles, and she would have screamed if the cold wind hadn’t seized the air in her lungs. She slid a little before her toes hit the guttering, and she gasped as she clung to the roof.
The shingles were icy cold and slippery, and her top and jeans were slowly growing wet and so damn cold. She winced as she edged along the roof. Shards of ice whipped against her bare feet, as though cutting her flesh, the tiny pinpricks of pain bringing tears to her eyes. She gritted her teeth, moving one foot, then the other, along the guttering, holding onto the roof with fingers slowly growing numb. Her nose was running, and her ears and the tip of her nose grew hot, then numb.
She shuffled along, trembling. The snow fell, touching her head and back with its cold kisses, until she finally found herself under Katie’s window. She flexed her feet, pressing off the tips of her toes—at least, she hoped she was. She couldn’t feel her feet. She reached out once, twice, until she finally managed to catch the sill of Katie’s window.
Gritting her teeth, her fingers pressed into the timber, she tried edging one knee up, then other, crawling across the cold, wet surface of the roof until she knelt outside the window, teeth chattering. She pushed at the glass, and was elated at the ease with which she managed to push it up.
She had one leg slung over the sill when the side of the house was bathed in pulsating splashes of blue and red. She glanced over her shoulder and almost wept when she recognized the sheriff’s cruiser.
Jackson climbed out of the cab, his expression stunned as he looked up at her. Then the shots rang out, with little puffs of snow exploding near his side, and he dived for cover behind a snowbank near the side of the house. Stephanie threw herself over the sill.
Chapter Four
Jackson commando crawled along until he could use the corner of the house as cover. He sat up, panting, and grabbed his radio from his hip holster.
“Shots fired, repeat, shots fired at 225 Ridgefork Lane. 10-71.” Officer needs assistance. He peered briefly around the corner of the house. What the hell was going on?
“10-4, Sheriff, calling for backup.”
“Approach with caution,” he muttered into his radio, then peered beyond the wall again. Those shots had come from downstairs. He’d seen Stephanie climbing through the window upstairs. He’d almost had heart failure when he’d recognized the bedraggled, wet woman on the roof. She was damn lucky she hadn’t slipped. He twisted, then winced. Damn, he’d been hit.
Another shot fired, and the wood of the porch railing above his head splintered. He ducked, shuffling back on his ass. He couldn’t even see which window they were shooting from. He unholstered his weapon, then looked around him. He was probably about halfway along the side of the house. He glanced up. There looked to be a bathroom window, but it was too narrow for him to climb through. The kitchen was further along the house toward the back. The living room windows were on the other side of the house.
The muscles in his jaw flexed, and then he leaned forward. What …? He rose to his feet and quietly scooted along the wall of the house. Low to the ground and almost buried by the snow—but not quite—was one of the basement windows.
Using his hands, he cleared the snow away from the glass, ignoring the burn of the cold against his fingers. He tried to pull the window open, but it wouldn’t budge. Maybe it was nailed or painted shut.
He unzipped his jacket, bundled up the butt of his gun, and then used it to hit at the glass. The glass shattered, but with the sound of the icy wind blowing, it didn’t seem too loud. He hoped it hadn’t sounded loud inside the house. He used his jacket to brush out the shards of glass and then quickly slid his legs through, holding on to the upper rim of the window as he lowered his body into the basement.
He hissed as he hung there for a moment, the burn in his side getting hotter, then dropped down to the floor. His hand went to his side, clutching as though the pressure would ease the pain, and it did, a little. He lifted his hand, and even though it was dark, there was enough of a glow from the snow outside that he could see the dark fluid glistening on his fingers.
* * *
Stephanie dropped to the floor, panting, and the closet door opened. Aiden and Katie burst out, falling on her and she hushed them. She wasn’t sure where their trembling ended and hers began, as they listened for more shots. She battled the panic that was rising inside her. Jackson! What had happened to him? She hoped—no, she prayed he was all right. Visions of him lying in the snow, possibly hurt—or worse—threatened to undo her, and she took a steadying breath. She couldn’t fall apart. Not now. The kids needed her.
Footsteps scurried down the stairs, and she lurched to her feet, finger to her lips. Her hair and clothes were wet, and she was so damn cold, but at least the feeling was returning to her feet. She sucked in a breath at the burning sensation of pins and needles. They had to get out of here. There was no pretending to be asleep in their rooms after those shots were fired.
She opened the bedroom door and peeked into the dark hallway. So far, it seemed clear. She tiptoed along the hall, the children close behind her, until they reached the point where the wall ended and the bannister for the stairwell began. She flattened herself against the wall, checking to make sure the kids were right behind her, then peered around the corner and down into the stairwell.
“What were you thinking?” A male voice exclaimed. Whoever they were, they were in the living room. She couldn’t see them, but she could hear them clearly.
“It was a damn lawman. We had to stop him radioing for backup.” This voice was deeper, coarser.
“Why the hell did you bring a gun?”
“Are you serious? We’re here to find sweet Bess. It makes perfect sense for us to be armed. And it’s a damn good thing we are, too.”
“You just shot at the sheriff.”
“But I didn’t shoot the deputy.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, grow up. Did you get him?”
“I don’t know.”
“If you didn’t, he’ll be out there calling for backup, dumbass.”
“I told you before, don’t call me dumbass.”
“Then stop acting like one. We’ll have to get out there and find him. I’ll take the front, you take the back—and keep an eye on the doors in case the woman and the kids try to make a run for it. Now we’re going to have to sort them out, too.”
The front door opened, and footsteps trooped out on to the porch. Stephanie leaned over in time to see a boot cross the threshold.
She beckoned the children along behind her, padding down the stairs. Both men had gone out the front door. She presumed one of them would be trekking through the snow around to the back door.
But for the moment, both were outside. She ran over to the front door and closed it, biting her lip as she flicked the latch on the lock. Grabbing Aiden and Katie by their hands, she jogged toward the back of the house. The phone lines were cut, but surely her neighbors had heard the shots and called for help. Their yard backed on to a forest, but if they cut through the north-east corner, there were other properties a short walk away. She could get Aiden and Katie to safety.
But then, what about Jackson? She’d seen him pull up, she’d seen him dive for cover. Had he been hit? Was he still alive? Was he lying in the snow unconscious? What should she do? She couldn’t very well leave him. She glanced down at the children who clung to her. But her kids needed to be safe.
They ran into the kitchen, and Steph skidded to a stop. Through the glass panel on the back door she could see a man’s head, and he shook his dark hair like a dog to get rid of the snow.
Oh, God, he’d beaten them to it.
He reached for the door handle and looked up, and his eyes met hers.
Brown eyes. Those brown eyes widened when realization struck, and he reached for the door.
“Run,” she said to the kids, and they turned and raced out of the kitc
hen. A thumping echoed down the dim hall from the front door. The other man was back there, trying to get in.
She hauled them to a stop. “Wait,” she panted. A man at the front door, a man at the back, and Jackson heaven only knew where. She glanced wildly about, then lurched at the door under the stairs.
The basement.
“Come on.” She opened the door and guided the children into the darkened stairwell, pulling the door shut behind her. She’d been meaning to replace the low-wattage lightbulb hanging above the stairs. It was strong enough to reveal the stairs, but that was about it. She wasn’t sure if hiding in the semi-dark was a bonus or a safety risk. The door didn’t have a lock, though. “Go down just a little further,” she whispered as she hurriedly undid her belt and slid it through the loops of her jeans.
Fingers trembling, she slid the end of the belt through the buckle and looped it over the door handle. She pulled it tight, then looped the other end over the timber rail that was nailed into the wall that led down into the basement. She dropped the belt, whimpered, then tried it again, pulling the strap around and fashioning the leather into some sort of knot.
The door rattled, and Katie screamed. Stephanie jerked back, looking over her shoulder briefly. She reached out to clutch their shoulders, and gently walked them down the stairs into the gloom.
“Shh, it’s okay Katie,” she whispered as soon as they reached the bottom. “We’re going to be fine.” God, she hoped she sounded more confident than she felt. One man trying to get into their basement, another prowling the grounds, and the phone lines cut. This had to be her worst nightmare. She had no idea what had happened to Jackson. She just hoped he was okay, too. She halted. This room was full of junk, and in the dim light she didn’t want them tripping over anything dangerous. There were two strip windows that were quite high up, and the faint glow of the snow reflecting the starlight shed just a little illumination. One of the windows was broken, and chill air filled the room.
Mistletoe Maverick Page 3