Cowboy Behind the Badge (16 page)

Maybe with more of that distracting sex.

“I can put the tear-gas canister through the front window or the side,” his brother said. “Can't guarantee it won't cause something to catch on fire, though.”

Yeah, Tucker already knew that, but he also didn't want this to turn into a long standoff. The sooner they got Buford out of there, the better, and the tear gas should send the killer running outside. With Buford's record, though, it was likely the man would come out shooting.

“Don't worry about the house. But if possible, I need him alive,” Tucker reminded Colt. With the other gunmen and Buford's lawyer dead, this man was his best shot at learning the truth about who was behind these attacks.

Colt nodded, took aim and fired. The tear-gas canister crashed through the window to the right of the front door, and Tucker heard it clank to the floor. Seconds later, wispy white gas started to ooze through the gaping hole in the glass.

Tucker took aim, waited.

Only a few seconds passed, but he suddenly got a bad feeling about all of it.

Why wasn't Buford running out?

He glanced at the main house. Tucker could see the lights stabbing through the twilight, but the place was too far away to tell if anything was wrong. He reminded himself that his father and sisters were in there. If Buford had somehow managed to escape and get to that house, they'd protect Laine. And besides, if something went wrong, one of them would call him.

Still, the skin crawled on the back of his neck.

“I'm speeding this up,” Tucker warned his brother. He fired a shot into the eaves of the house. Then another.

No response.

Certainly no sign of Buford.

Tucker waited another couple of seconds, hoping that the front door would burst open, and Buford would come staggering out.

He didn't.

“Something's not right,” Tucker mumbled. He took out his phone and pressed Laine's number. No answer. He tried again with the house phone.

Nothing.

Hell. This was some kind of trap.

“Call me when you have Buford out of there,” Tucker said to his brother, and he didn't wait for the ranch hands who'd come with him. He jumped back in his truck, started the engine and hit the gas.

In his rearview mirror, he saw Colt and the others moving toward the house, guns raised. Ready in case Buford came out shooting. Tucker hated to put this on other people's shoulders. Buford was his problem, and he wanted to be the one to take him down. But he couldn't ignore the fact that Laine and the rest of his family might be under attack.

The short drive seemed to take an eternity, and when he pulled to a stop in front of the house, Tucker still didn't see signs that anything was wrong. However, the moment he threw open his truck door, his phone rang.

Colt's name popped up on the screen.

“You have Buford?” Tucker immediately asked.

“We have him, all right.” Colt paused. “But he's dead.”

Oh, man. That was not what he wanted to hear. “You had to shoot him?”

“No. I think he was poisoned or something. I haven't examined the body yet, but I can see him through the window. He's on the floor in the kitchen, and there's foam around his mouth. He looks like he had a seizure.”

Both concern and relief roared through Tucker. On the one hand, this meant Buford couldn't come after Laine and the babies again. But it also meant someone had likely murdered the one man who could give Tucker answers.

Who'd done that?

“There's more,” Colt went on. “You can thank Deputy Grange for spotting it. There are trip wires on both the front and back doors. Someone's rigged them with explosives. They're small enough to fit in a man's pocket, but they probably would have gone off if we'd barged in there. That's why I haven't had a good look at the body yet.”

Hell. If this dirtbag had set explosives at his place, maybe he'd done the same at the main house.

Tucker looked up at his family's home again, and he heard something he damn sure didn't want to hear. First, the sound of the security alarm blaring, and over that, he heard something else.

Laine shouting.

“Get down!”

Her shout was followed by a gunshot.

 

Chapter Sixteen

Laine saw the shadowy figure at the top of the stairs. And the gun pointed directly at Roy.

She shouted for Roy to get down, and she tried to pull him into the room with her.

But it was already too late.

The person fired a shot at him.

Thankfully, the guy missed, but he took aim again at Roy.

Rosalie screamed, and both Laine and she shoved Roy into the guest room and shut the door. They locked it and moved to the side in case the gunman tried to shoot his way through.

Laine braced herself for more shots, but they didn't come. In fact, other than the security alarm, there were no sounds of any kind, including footsteps.

Was the killer trying to sneak up on them?

If so, he'd certainly lost the element of surprise. But maybe he was trying to figure out a way to get to them other than breaking down the door. After all, he had to figure that at least one of them would be armed.

Her pulse was racing now, and the air felt still, as if everything was holding its breath. Roy started to open the door, no doubt to have a look at what was going on in the hall, but Laine pulled him back.

She didn't hear footsteps, but something caught her attention. A smell.

“Smoke,” she mumbled.

Oh, mercy. Had he set the place on fire? If so, that would explain why he hadn't come after them. It also meant they could be trapped.

“Laine?” someone called out.
Tucker.
The alarm quit clanging, probably because he'd put in the code to stop it. “Dad?”

There were still no shots, but Laine knew she had to do something in case Tucker was walking right into a setup. The person who'd set the fire could ambush him.

“There's someone in the house!” she shouted. She prayed that would help him get out of the path of any bullets this monster intended to send his way.

Was it Buford out there? Had he managed to escape from Tucker's house and come for them? If so, he wouldn't stop until Tucker or one of them forced him to.

“It's getting thicker,” Rosalie said, tipping her head to the milky-gray smoke oozing beneath the door.

It was also getting harder for her to breathe, but Laine didn't know what to do about that. If they hurried out into the hall, they could all be shot. But they couldn't stay put, either, because they were starting to cough. Besides, the fire could consume the house and burn them alive.

“Don't shoot. I'm coming up,” Tucker yelled. He, too, was coughing.

Laine pulled in her breath, waiting and praying. Without the blare from the alarm, she had no trouble hearing the racing footsteps on the stairs and in the hall.

“It's me,” Tucker said through his coughs.

Laine threw open the door and was so relieved to see him that she had to fight from launching herself into his arms. Tucker didn't give her a chance to do that anyway, because he moved them away from the door again.

“Is anyone hurt?” he asked, giving all three of them a quick glance.

Laine shook her head. “The man fired a shot at your father.”

Tucker cursed, gave his dad another look. “I didn't see anyone downstairs. Just the smoke.”

“Where's the fire?” Roy immediately asked.

“Don't think there is one. Looks like this bozo set off some smoke bombs downstairs.”

Part of her was relieved, but the smoke could turn out to be just as deadly as the fire if it meant they couldn't breathe.

“I think the phones are jammed,” Laine told him as Tucker motioned for them to come out of the room. He kept his gun aimed in the direction of the stairs.

“Yeah, someone used a signal zapper, and it's not Buford's doing. He's dead back at my house.”

The sickening dread raced through her. Laine certainly hadn't wanted to come face-to-face with Buford again, but if he wasn't the one doing this, then who was?

She had a horrible thought that they would soon find out.

Leading the way, Tucker hurried them up the hall and toward the stairs, where the smoke was the thickest. Roy started coughing so hard that Laine and Rosalie each took him by the arm and tried to keep up with Tucker. By the time they made it to the bottom, her lungs felt ready to burst, and her eyes were watering so badly that she couldn't see more than a few feet in front of her.

“Not that way,” Tucker said when she reached for the front door.

Probably because he thought the killer was out there waiting for them. And he or she could be. The smoke could have been a ruse to draw them all out of the house and into the line of fire. But the ruse would also work if they all passed out from smoke inhalation.

Then they'd be sitting ducks for a killer.

Instead, Tucker hurried them toward the back of the house. Not to the kitchen, either, where she knew there was a door to the backyard.

With his attention firing all around them, they went into the family room, and he hurried to the window on the far exterior wall. The smoke was still thick—there was more than enough to keep them all coughing—but Tucker still didn't throw open the window to let in the fresh air.

“Keep watch behind us,” he said to his father. Roy turned, pointed his gun in that direction.

Tucker looked out the window, eased it open and then shoved out the screen. The night breeze immediately started to pour in, and Laine gulped in several long breaths before Tucker climbed out. As he'd done in the hall, he looked around, his gun ready, and then motioned for them to come out.

Laine helped Rosalie through first. When it was her turn, she tried to hurry in case their attacker came after Roy. The moment they all had their feet on the ground, Tucker got them moving again.

They only made it a few steps before Tucker stopped, pivoted and took aim.

A shot cracked through the air.

* * *

T
UCKER
 
FIRED
 
AT
 
their attacker, who'd just leaned out from the corner of the house.

He missed.

But thankfully so did the shooter.

His bullet slammed into the ground, but Tucker figured the idiot would soon pull the trigger again.

And he did.

Another shot immediately came their way, and instead of shooting back this time, Tucker knew he had to get Laine and the others out of the line of fire.

“This way,” Tucker shouted, and he caught onto Laine's arm to run toward a pair of oaks about ten yards away. They had only made it a few steps when the shots returned.

Man, did they.

They came at them nonstop.

The shooter was obviously using some kind of assault weapon to be able to get off that many rounds that fast. It also meant he wouldn't have to pause to reload anytime soon. That wasn't good news.

Tucker kept moving, and the moment he reached the trees, he dragged Laine to the ground so he could cover her and help his dad and Rosalie.

But his heart dropped.

Rosalie and his dad weren't there.

It took Tucker a moment to pick through the darkness to spot them. Alive, thank God. They'd gone in the other direction. Probably because of the path of those bullets around them. And they were now behind some shrubs and a large stone birdbath. It wasn't much cover, but at least they weren't out in the open.

Tucker wanted to call out to them, to ask if they were okay, but if the shooter didn't have them pinpointed, that would give away their position. Besides, his father was a smart man, and he knew how to defend himself. Still, Tucker didn't want him or Rosalie to have to do that.

Because Laine was pressed right against him, he could feel the tightened muscles in her body and could hear her ragged breaths.

“Shhh,” he said, trying to soothe her. It didn't work.

She was obviously terrified, and so was he. He wished he could assure her that he'd get all of them out of this alive. But a reassurance now would be a lie.

Tucker took out his phone to call Colt, but then cursed when he saw that he had no service. Laine had been right about someone jamming the phones. It wasn't hard to do, but it meant their attacker had not only brought jamming equipment and an assault weapon, but had also likely been the one to set the explosives at Tucker's house.

This had not been a spur-of-the-moment attack. It'd been well planned, and that meant Tucker had no idea what other things this idiot could throw their way. Or how many goons he'd brought with him to finish the job.

The shots kept coming, all of them aimed at Laine and him. Each bullet tore through the trees. It wouldn't be long before the gunman chipped away at enough of their cover to do some serious damage.

But the angle of the shots was a little off.

Not by much. Just enough for Tucker to think this guy didn't want them dead. Well, not both of them, anyway. Still, even if he wasn't trying to kill them, it didn't mean a stray bullet wouldn't finish them off.

“I'm sorry,” he mumbled to Laine.

She lifted her head just a fraction and glared up at him. “This wasn't your fault.”

He disagreed. “I sure as heck didn't stop it from happening.”

But he could do something about stopping it now. If he could just maneuver himself into a better position, he might be able to get off a decent shot and put an end to the triggerman.

Tucker knew the side yard like the back of his hand. There were more trees and shrubs, but nothing that would get him into a position to fire. His brother's house was about forty yards away and was still under construction. It would give Tucker the right angle, but the odds were sky-high that the shooter would see him and stop him before he made it there.

That left one of the vehicles.

Several trucks were parked on the grounds. None would be ideal, but he somehow had to make it work. The biggest problem with the plan was that it involved leaving Laine alone.

He hated that.

Because this moron could have someone else out there, waiting for him to make a move just like that. Still, Tucker would likely be able to shoot anyone who attempted to kidnap Laine again.

“Wait here and stay down,” Tucker told Laine.

She immediately started shaking her head. “You're not going out there.”

“I don't have much of a choice.” He motioned toward his dad's truck, which was about halfway between where they were and the front of the house.

The head-shaking continued, and when it finally stopped, he saw the tears shimmering in her eyes.

Oh, man. Not tears. It tore at his heart to see her cry, but it would tear at him even more if he didn't do everything possible to get her out of this alive.

Tucker leaned in, pressed a kiss on her mouth. He figured it wouldn't help. He was wrong about that, too. It sure helped him, and it was a good reminder of just how much was at stake. Not just his father's and sister's lives.

But Laine's.

He gave her one last look. There was no way he would say goodbye, but Tucker knew in the back of his mind that this could have a very bad ending. He got ready to move, but the moment he leaned out from the tree, he spotted the headlights from a vehicle barreling up the road toward the house.

Colt.

Thank God. His brother must have heard the shots and come to help. Maybe he'd brought the deputy and the ranch hands with him, too, in case the shooter had reinforcements.

The shooter reacted to those headlights, all right. He stopped firing, and Tucker saw him pivot in Colt's direction. Tucker couldn't let him shoot at Colt, so even though he was way out of position, he double tapped the trigger to get the shooter's attention.

It worked.

The person dropped to the ground.

It was exactly the distraction Tucker needed, and it meant he didn't have to leave Laine alone and unguarded behind the trees. He hauled Laine to her feet and got her moving toward his dad's truck.

Tucker tried to keep watch all around them to make sure the shooter didn't have backup planted around the ranch. With the distraction that Buford had created at Tucker's place, it was possible several gunmen had come undetected onto the ranch. They could be waiting anywhere, ready to ambush them.

Laine and he ran, but they were still yards from the truck when the shots started again. They weren't going toward Colt. They were going toward him and Laine.

Tucker cursed and kept running. It wouldn't do any good to pull Laine back to the ground, since that's where most of the shots were landing. The bullets were kicking up dirt all around them. The truck was off-limits now, too, because the shooter had moved in that direction.

Mercy, he and Laine were trapped.

Tucker just tightened his grip on her and kept running toward his brother's house.

The place looked like a giant skeleton with the moonlight bouncing off the pale wooden frame. The walls were only partially up, but there were plenty of places for him and Laine to take cover. So Tucker ran as if their lives depended on it.

Because they did.

The shots kept coming closer and closer, but missing their mark.

Maybe.

Either this guy was a bad shot, or the bullets were meant to drive them to a specific place.

Not a comforting thought.

That's why Tucker tried to see if there was anyone lurking in the shadows of all that construction. But he saw nothing. So, as soon as he reached the front of the house, he pulled Laine inside.

Just like that, the shots stopped.

Tucker was partly thankful for that. It meant he could hear anyone trying to sneak up on them. But it also meant the shooter could be coming in pursuit.

Laine and he needed to find better positions.

It'd been more than a week since he'd been to the construction site, and Tucker wasn't familiar with the layout. He glanced around, spotted the stairs that he figured would lead to the yet-to-be-completed second floor. The height would give him a good vantage point from which to spot the shooter and anyone else he'd brought with him.