Page 35 of Lone Star Protector

If he or she had gotten lucky, that is.

That first shot had come right at Caroline when she’d been standing by the window, and if the specialized bullet had hit at the wrong angle or on some flawed spot of the glass, she could have been killed. Had that been the shooter’s intention? Or had this attack been all about terrorizing her?

He hoped the drone would spot the motorcycle so they could catch the bastard, and then Nash could maybe find out the answer to that question.

“Oz, put the feed for the security cameras on the van’s dash monitor,” Nash instructed.

It was overkill information since the motion detectors would alert him if anyone came onto the grounds, but it wouldn’t hurt to have a backup to those sensors.

Within seconds, the feed popped onto the dash, and as expected, Nash didn’t see anyone. The gates were still closed, just as they should be, and he wouldn’t be opening them until the cops had arrived. Even then, he’d verify every single one of them before letting them in. Because he wouldn’t put it past Bodie to try to sneak in with the first responders.

The mudroom door opened, and Nash’s hand automatically tensed on his gun, but it was only Slade.

“No one’s inside,” Slade reported. He had the bags he’d brought over earlier and stashed them on the console.

“There’s the stench of some tear gas still lingering around, but other than that and the obvious broken window, that’s it,” Slade went on. “No other damage. The tear gas canister didn’t even hit or break anything when it landed. It’s just lying on the floor, ready for the CSIs to examine it and hopefully get a print that the dickhead shooter might have missed when he loaded it into the launcher.”

Yeah, that was the hope, all right.

“The drone has something to report,” Oz informed them, and the security feed was replaced with some other images. Not footage but rather a series of still photos that the drone had obviously shot.

Like Caroline and Slade, Nash looked at the pictures, but it didn’t take a long study for him to spot what the drone had picked up.

A motorcycle.

Not on the road but rather in the ditch, and there was no rider on or near it.

“Oz, where were these images taken?” Nash asked.

“A quarter of a mile from here,” Oz promptly replied. “The motorcycle is within twenty feet of an old ranch trail.”

A trail where the shooter had no doubt left a vehicle for his or her quick getaway.

“Ruby and the police have been alerted about this new information,” Oz went on.

Good, and that meant the CSIs would examine the motorcycle for any prints or trace evidence. Nash wasn’t hopeful they’d find anything, but again, they could get lucky. The shooter might have carefully planned this, but that didn’t mean he or she hadn’t made a mistake.

There was a series of beeps, and without Nash even having to give the command, Oz replaced the drone pictures with the live feed from the security cameras. Nash expected to see cops, lots and lots of them.

But this was a single vehicle.

And it sure as heck wasn’t a cop driving it.

Hell in a handbasket. What was she doing here?

Chapter Twelve

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“Jordana,” Caroline grumbled when she saw the woman approach the gate in her silver Mercedes.

And Caroline’s mind began to whirl with one big question.

Had Jordana been the one to fire those shots?

She certainly had the training for it, and she was obviously close by. The woman could have shot at them, ran when she spotted the van coming at her, then ditched the motorcycle and driven here to the gate.

But for what?

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