Page 10 of Stilettos and Outlaws

Julie gagged. “These mattresses smell like urine.”

Boom!

Boom!

Boom!

Boom!

Julie and I dove under Chuck’s truck as flaming debris rained down. The ground shook beneath us as the dynamite and Claymores continued to explode.

The dispatcher called, “Charlie-24 state the nature of your emergency.”

“I must have hit the emergency button on my radio,” Julie gasped and keyed her mic, “We have multiple explosions involving hazardous materials. We need all the fire trucks you can send us and the bomb squad.”

“Copy Charlie-24,” the dispatcher replied. “Are you or Charlie-23 in need of the paramedics?”

A flaming tire rolled past us.

“Not yet,” Julie answered, totally ignoring the large cut on her forehead.

“OMG! Mom!”

Our patrol car skidded to a stop and Mom yelled, “Get in.”

We crawled out from under the truck and scrambled into the back seat. Mom put it in reverse and gunned it.

Pieces of the barn crashed down around us.

I glanced out the window and gasped. The trailer and all the crazy old coot’s treasures were on fire too. Thick black smoke filled the air. “Where’s Chuck?”

“He barricaded himself in the trailer,” Mom replied, slamming on the brakes. “How badly are you hurt?”

I wiped at the blood running down my chin. “Just a bloody nose and some minor cuts.”

“Dammit! I ruined another uniform,” Julie groused.

“Are you hurt, Julie,” Mom demanded.

“Same as Gemma. Minor cuts and bruises. No need for the paramedics.”

Mom glanced at us in the rearview mirror. “Really? You both look like you were in a brawl and lost. Your uniforms are a mess, and I’m not even going to discuss your hair. You need to get checked out.”

“No, we do not,” Julie protested.

Even if I were missing an arm, they weren’t taking me to the emergency room again. “How many times has someone assaulted us or tried to kill us in the hospital, Mom?”

Mom exhaled a long breath. “Several times. You can discuss it with your father or Sergeant Bergman.”

“We can make a run for it,” Julie whispered.

I shook my head. “Dad’s too good a tracker and Sergeant Bergman would put us on dead animal pickup for a year.”

“Yeah, he has a mean streak.” Julie slumped against the seat.

Two patrol cars pulled up. Dad, Sergeant Bergman, Frank and Nate climbed out carrying bomb gear.

“Any serious injuries?” Dad’s gaze roamed over us.

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