Security Breach
Page 2
“A what?”
She stared at him another minute, her eyes piercing his with such hatred that Ben couldn’t begin to imagine what the person she thought he was had done. Because one thing was certain—he’d never met her before. He would remember if he had. She was short—a full foot shorter than him—but what she lacked in height she made up for in intensity. Her hair was red and cut to frame her face. Her body—compact was the word that came to mind. There wasn’t an ounce of extra on the woman, a fact made obvious by her tight-fitting black clothes. Definitely not Amish.
“If it were up to me, I would have put a bullet in your head when you walked around the side of the building.”
“But you didn’t.”
“Because it’s not up to me. Tell me the plan.”
“I don’t have a plan.”
“Tell me where the bomb is. My boss has agreed to cut you a deal, against my protests.”
“Because you would shoot me.”
“Do not mock me.”
In the soft light he could just make out the wound on her upper right bicep. Blood had soaked through the fabric of her shirt, rendering it glossy in the low light. Occasionally he thought he saw a tremor in her arm, which wasn’t comforting in the least. She was holding the gun with her right hand.
“You’re hurt.”
She didn’t respond, as if he hadn’t even spoken.
“I have some medical supplies in the office. Accidents happen all the time in a barn. Let me get the kit for you.”
“Is it on an automatic timer?”
“Is what on an automatic timer?”
“Did you hide it in the market?”
“What? Nein.”
“Stop. Just stop lying.”
“I’m not.”
A low moan came from the back of the barn. She jerked the gun up and toward it.
“Hey. Take it easy.”
She was already behind him, prodding him to his feet with her good arm, then pushing the flashlight into his hands and urging him forward. Could he overpower her? Doubtful. She’d shoot him before he could even turn around. She’d made that abundantly clear. Best to bide his time—hope and pray that she passed out from the wound. Then he could fetch a doctor and maybe find out what this was all about.
“Toward the back, slowly.”
“It’s Molly. She needs milking. It was what I was about to do when I heard something outside.”
“What did you hear?”
“A shot—maybe. Didn’t know it at the time, just heard the pop. No doubt the same shot that hit you in the arm.” Which was when he realized that they weren’t alone. Of course they weren’t. Someone had shot the woman, and it hadn’t been him.
They’d reached Molly’s stall. The cow turned her head toward them—large brown eyes and a tuft of brown hair poking up between her velvety soft ears. She let out another baleful cry.
“I don’t understand what’s going on here, but I need to take care of Molly.” Ben had his back to the woman. He didn’t turn around, didn’t raise his voice or make any quick moves. But he did proceed into the stall.
“Stop.”
“She needs milking. Cows get used to a certain schedule.”
“I said stop.”
“And if you miss that schedule it’s uncomfortable—painful even, as you can tell by the look she’s giving me.”
He continued forward, expecting at any moment to hear the click of the trigger, feel the searing pain of the bullet. He’d been struck by a bullet once before, when he was a child and hunting with his brother. They’d been messing around and the rifle had gone off. It was a pain he’d never forget and certainly didn’t want to experience again. But then there was Molly...
He walked forward and righted the milking stool.