Page 93 of Deadly Attraction
Will’s fresh blood spotted the floor near the door. Emma’s blood was intermixed with glass near his boots.
Have to keep her alive.
If he did one goddamn thing right in his life, it had to be that.
Rain plunked in the puddles, oozed over the landscape. His gaze kept going back to the blood on the floor. Mac’s blood was on his hands. Emma and Will were both injured because he’d chosen to save a couple of horses.
He kicked the wall, huffing, then yelled out the broken window. “Come on, you sack of shit. What are you waiting for?”
Nothing happened.
There was no good answer, no easy solution. Creeping under the window, he locked the door. Not much good that would do since their bad guy could still get in, but he wasn’t about to let the asshole just walk in through the door. If he tried to come in, he’d have to crawl through the jagged glass of the broken window.
Mitch crouched and ran to the kitchen.
Once there, he went to the window, checking the area. No Will and no one else either. Second Chance and Hope had moved away from the juvie center van and Mitch could no longer see them either.
He checked the lock on the back door, then went by the mudroom and pantry, circling back out to the living room. The window on the other side of the room was curtained and he peeked out, scanning the area toward the pasture and woods.
A flash of black caught his eye, but it was only Igor among the trees.
Where was Will? Had he lost too much blood and passed out? Had their assailant moved positions? Mitch went back to the front window, every nerve on edge as he carefully eyed the area from the frame.
A noise over the falling rain met his ears and he tipped his head, listening closer but still not seeing anything out of place. As the sound became louder, he recognized the familiarclomp, clomp, clompof a horse’s hooves. The horse was moving toward him at a fairly fast clip.
Second Chance. Their assailant was making a break for it.
Mitch tried to calm the sudden rage inside him, flaring to life like a flash fire. But it wouldn’t be calmed. This asshole wasn’t going anywhere.
Snatching the rifle from the floor and tuning his ears to carefully listen to the cadence of the hooves, he went to his knees and used the gun to clear the jagged glass from the sill. Propping the gun on the ledge, he steadied his pounding pulse.
Before he could blink, a man riding Second Chance came into view, his body hunkered down over the horse’s mane as he dug his heels into her side, urging her to go faster toward the gate.
Mitch lined up the scope, following the fleeing form. If he missed and hit the horse…
Not happening.
But hitting the man atop the horse going at that speed would be challenging for a sharp shooter like Will. Mitch was good, but he wasn’t a sniper and his military days were long behind him. He’d always been better with a handgun; he wasn’t a marksman with a rifle.
No choice. Do it.
God and Emma forgive me if I miss.
The horse and rider had already passed the front of the house. He lined up the man’s back, put his finger on the trigger and let the weight of it press the trigger the slightest amount.
Then he took a deep breath, let it out halfway, and…
Boom!
The rifle kicked, the blast echoing in the room. His ears buzzed, a fine match to his gritty eyes and the taste of ash in his mouth. He heard a scream—horse or man?
He was almost scared to look.
Taking his eye away from the scope, he saw Second Chance continuing toward the gate at a much slower pace, red blood running down her side.
But it wasn’t her blood.
At least he didn’t think so.
