With no time to think or reason, Logan ran through the house, exited through the laundry room into the garage and slipped out the side door of the garage. Hanging in the shadows while his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he hunkered down and sprinted toward Trent. Grabbing him by the arms, Logan dragged him the short distance to the garage. Two more shots rang in his ears.
“Can you walk?” he asked Trent as he locked the door behind him. From what he’d seen in the exterior light, Trent had been shot in the chest and face. But based on distance between his shotgun wounds, the shooter hadn’t been too close. If Trent was blessed, the shots weren’t life threatening. But he was still a mess.
“Don’t know,” Trent huffed.
Another loud shot rang out, followed by the sound of breaking glass. Logan grabbed up what looked like a drop cloth and tossed it over the wounded deputy to completely cover him. “Keep quiet and maybe you’ll be okay. Gotta help Mallory. She was calling the cops.” Logan crept into the house, where he saw the front window had been shattered by a gunshot. He paused to listen, but hearing nothing, headed for the bear cave to get his cell phone, then doubled back to find Mallory. They had to get out of here—fast.
Halfway down the hallway, he noticed something directly ahead that made his blood run cold. Standing in front of the broken window, illuminated by the porch light, a tall man faced Logan. Wearing a black ski mask and gloves, he was dressed from head to toe in dark camouflage, aiming what appeared to be a semiautomatic shotgun straight at Logan.
Hoping that he was still somewhat concealed in the hallway shadows, Logan froze in place. Without breathing, he slowly raised the AR rifle, ready to shoot. “Drop it or—” Before he could finish, his ears rang with a loud boom and he tumbled back into a wall. Before he hit the ground, he returned the shot, then crawled into the master bedroom doorway for cover.
“Get out of here!” Logan yelled at the top of his lungs. He wasn’t talking to the shooter—although he hoped the monster would think so—but his instructions were for Mallory. “Get out now!” he hollered as he closed and locked the door. Run for your life, Mallory.
Logan clutched his left shoulder where the shotgun had clipped him. It was wet with blood and burned like fire, but the shooter’s aim had been off. Otherwise Logan would be dead. He heard footsteps down the hallway and figured the creep was coming to finish him off. Hurrying into the bathroom, he locked the door and bundled a bath towel around his bleeding shoulder. He was just reaching for his phone when he heard a loud crash that seemed to come from upstairs.
“Mallory!” he gasped. Had the intruder gone up there and kicked her door in? Had he found her? Armed with the AR, Logan crept through the bedroom—listening intently at the door, he slowly opened it. His goal: to save Mallory—or die trying.
TWENTY-TWO
Frozen in fear, Mallory tried to think. Logan had told her to run—but where was she supposed to go? She’d heard the shots, knew an intruder was in the house. If she went downstairs she’d probably run straight into him. But maybe that would be a good thing. If she was prepared, she might be able to shoot him. And it was possible that Logan needed her backup. And yet she had promised to do as he said—and he had said to run. But where?
Suddenly she remembered the way she and Austin had sometimes sneaked out of the second floor when they were kids. Austin had discovered how, revealing it to her when she was a young teen. She hadn’t attempted it for ages. She tiptoed to the nearby bathroom and quietly slid open the window, looking down onto the wooden pergola below. This pine structure had been there for as long as she could remember. It shaded a small courtyard outside of her parents’ bathroom—her mom’s secret sunbathing spot. Mallory prayed that the old wooden structure was still strong enough to support her weight as she eased herself out the window. She also hoped that she could still do a balance-beam walk, as she attempted to traverse the narrow piece of wood. She was nearly to the edge—everything intact—when she felt the whole thing swaying. And suddenly it was giving way and all she could do was to take a flying leap and hope she landed in the soft grass without breaking any bones.
As she heard the pergola crashing down behind her, she leaped to her feet and took off sprinting across the lawn, making a beeline for the safety of the darkened woods. When she left the soft grassy area, her footsteps grew loud. Pinecones and needles crunched beneath her hiking shoes as she ran through the underbrush, dodging the trees, trying to stay in the shadows. She knew she’d just given herself away with the fallen pergola, and the only escape was the trees, but she needed to get deep into the woods fast. Her best hope was to find a safe spot and wait for Logan. If only he was okay.
She didn’t know how far she’d gone when she finally stopped next to a thicket of pines, but she was panting hard and her sides ached from running. Holding her breath to listen for the sound of footsteps coming up behind her, she counted to ten and was relieved to hear only silence. She slowly exhaled and inhaled through her mouth, trying to remain quiet while she attempted to catch her breath...watching for the beam of a flashlight...and waiting. She felt reasonably safe, but all she could think of was Logan. Where was he? Was he okay?
If he was okay, would he know to come out here to find her? If he wasn’t okay...? She couldn’t think about that. It was too much to bear. Instead, she shot up another silent prayer. Please, God—protect him!
She pulled out her phone again, checking to see if Griggs had responded to her text—if help was on the way. But realizing that her phone had not had bars while in the house, she sent it again. She considered texting Logan, too—to see if he was okay. But if he was still in the house, possibly hiding in her dad’s office, and hadn’t thought to silence his phone, a chiming noise would put him in harm’s way.
Mallory listened hard but heard nothing. Even the woods were unnaturally silent, as if the wildlife was holding its breath, too. The only thing she could hear was Logan’s last words to her. His warning kept reverberating in her ears. Get out. Run. Now. He’d obviously been in serious danger and wanted her to escape it. But now what? How long could she stay out here without going back to help him? Again she prayed, this time it was for God’s direction—Show me what to do—please! But nothing came to her. Nothing besides questions. Too many questions.
What if...what if? Every horrible scenario was racing through her mind now. Anything and everything seemed possible. And if something bad happened to Logan she would blame herself. She reached down to touch the pistol in her holster again. Just six bullets. Not a lot, but enough to make a difference. Enough to possibly save his life. And he wasn’t out here to tell her what to do. Maybe it was time to do it her way.
She peered back at the house. Even though it wasn’t close, the exterior lights showed up clearly through the trees. As far as she could see, no one was outside. She stepped out into the open, ready to go back, to sneak inside, and help Logan. But then she remembered her promise to let him be the chief. He was supposed to call the shots. And he had told her to run—in no uncertain terms. But what now?
And surely the rules would change if something happened to him? What if he was no longer able to call the shots? What if he needed her? How would she know out here in the woods? Sure, she might be safe...but what about him?
Logan, her heart whispered, please be safe—be okay. I need you.
Another gunshot made her skin crawl. Who was doing the shooting? What was going on? And where was Logan? Furthermore, where was Griggs? And the backup? And what about Trent? She pulled her phone out of her jeans pocket, cupping her hand to shield the light so it wouldn’t expose her presence in the pitch-black woods, she peered down to see that Griggs had finally received her text and texted her back. On my way with backup. Five minutes out. Where are you?
She texted back. In the woods. Logan in house. Shooter in house.
He texted again. Trent?
She
frowned as she texted back. Don’t know. As she hit Send, she wondered if Trent could possibly be the shooter. But as Logan had said earlier, that didn’t make any sense. As much as she distrusted Trent, she didn’t think he was part of Brock’s diabolical plan. He would have too much to lose.
And although she hadn’t seen Brock and had no real proof, she could just feel it deep inside of her. He was here. And he was here to kill her...and anyone else who got in his way.
Oh, she knew people thought she was crazy and that no one besides Logan could believe that the smooth-talking news anchor was really a murderer. But she felt certain that Brock was the shooter tonight. And this is just what she texted Griggs.
I suspect Brock Dennison is on the property. Armed with shotgun.
A chill ran through her as she hit Send. If she and Logan didn’t survive this night, and if Brock got away somehow, at least she would have shared that important piece of information. At least law enforcement could go after him later. If it wasn’t him...well, she couldn’t even find an answer for that.
She stared at the house, wondering how long she could stay back here with the possibility that Logan’s life was in peril. She ran her hand over the gun’s handle and honestly thought she could feel her finger itching. If Brock was in there, if he had hurt Logan, well, she would rather die trying to take down Brock than to survive out here and lose Logan. Suddenly her decision was clear.
“Forgive me, Logan,” she whispered as she headed purposefully toward the house. As she slowly walked, trying to keep her footsteps as quiet as possible, she slipped the pistol from the holster and readied it to shoot. She knew that her old-fashioned single-action pistol was no match for what Brock might be packing, but a well-placed bullet could help Logan escape.
She was nearly at the lawn area when she felt her phone vibrating in her pocket. Ducking behind the thick trunk of a pine, she shielded the light with her hand and peered down to read the text message. The first thing she saw was that it was from “unknown.”
If you want to see your boyfriend again, come back. Now.
She blinked down at the words. No veiled threats here. Brock was playing hardball. And it was in his court.
I don’t believe you, she boldly texted back, just trying to buy time...to think.
Then he’s a dead duck.
She knew she had to get the upper hand here. But how? She decided to try again. If Logan’s with you, she typed with trembling thumbs, have him text me from his phone. There was a longer pause this time. So long she felt worried. But eventually another text popped up. To her relief it was sent from Logan’s phone. Obey the chief was all it said. But at least she knew it was from him. Brock wouldn’t write that. And she knew Logan was warning her to stay away—just as much as she knew that was impossible.
Will do, she texted back. But even as she sent it, she knew she wouldn’t. Brock obviously had Logan. And he obviously planned to kill him. Just as he’d killed Kestra and planned to kill Mallory. Brock was a madman who believed he could get away with murder. Indeed, he had gotten away with it.
But what should she do? How could she handle this without endangering Logan or herself even more? She knew backup would be here soon. But with Brock holding Logan in the house...and if she joined them...backup would become more difficult. Instead of needing to rescue one person, they might have to rescue two. Complications. And so she decided to text Brock again. She had to gain some control. Meet me out back, she texted. Unless I see Logan, I won’t reveal myself.
Brock quickly responded. On our way out. No tricks or Logan gets it.
No tricks, she texted back. But that wasn’t a promise. It was a warning...to him. She remained behind the trunk of the large pine, practicing her aim, with her gun ready to shoot. Taking some deep breaths, she knew she had to get calm. Don’t shoot until ready. And once she shot, she would have to take cover fast.
Because once she shot, the rules would change. If she missed him, Brock might retaliate by killing Logan. Even if he returned fire at her, she would only have five more shots to take him out and it would be crazy by then. What if she accidentally shot Logan? So, really, it depended on one good shot. Unless her aim was true, Brock would have all the advantages—and the ammo.
Praying for a cool head and a steady hand, she waited. Watching as the exterior lights were turned out. Of course, Brock was trying to hide in the darkness. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to adjust her vision to blackness. When she looked back at the darkened house, she was surprised that she was able to see its outline as well as the night sky reflecting on the sliding glass doors. If Brock exited onto the back deck, she might be able to see him. And then she heard the lock on the sliding door being unlocked.
Ducking back behind the tree trunk and shielding her phone beneath her shirt, she sent a quick text to Griggs. Backyard. Brock has Logan. Exiting back door—
She didn’t finish the text because she heard the slider door opening. She hit Send, tucked her phone in her jeans pocket and peered out from behind the tree.
She could see the two of them like one big, bulky shadow. One was slightly slumped over. But the other one, despite his dark disguise, she recognized as Brock. Of course he was using Logan as his shield. Even if she was an excellent shot, which was a stretch, it seemed impossible to get to Brock without hitting Logan. What now?
“Stay hidden!” Logan yelled. Then Brock swore angrily, hitting Logan so hard she could hear the smack clear across the yard.
She was tempted to scream something back, but knew that would give her hiding spot away. Instead, she decided to text Brock again. From behind the tree, she held her phone under her shirt as she hurried to type. Let Logan go, and I’ll step out. I promise.
She looked out again, trying to see if Brock was going to check his phone. “Don’t bother trying to text me now, Mallory. I won’t fall for it,” he yelled. “Just get yourself out here before I shoot your boyfriend again.”
So he’d already shot Logan? Mallory’s heart clenched. How bad was it? She played out a scenario in her mind—if she just randomly shot into the air, would Brock be distracted enough to loosen his grip on Logan? Perhaps Logan could make a run for it? Or would Brock simply shoot Logan then aim at her?
“Let Logan go,” she yelled impulsively. “And you can have me.”
Brock turned in the direction of her voice, aiming into the woods, but obviously uncertain because he didn’t shoot.
“Come on,” she yelled from behind the tree trunk. “You let Logan go and I’ll step out, Brock.”
This time his answer came in the loud boom of the shotgun that seemed to splatter all around her. She answered him with a shot from her rifle, not aiming at Brock and Logan, but into the woods in the hope it would distract Brock and buy her some time. She was about to shoot again when she heard another shot—not the big boom of a shotgun, but the clear, loud ring of a rifle.
In the same instant she heard men’s voices yelling, and she peeked out from the tree trunk in time to see Brock and Logan tumbling to the ground. It suddenly looked like a dog pile with several other men in deputy uniforms jumping on top, a scrambling heap of arms and legs. She held her breath, waiting, and was thankful that no more shots were fired.
With her gun still ready to shoot, she hurried over to the scene just as Deputies Griggs and O’Brian pinned Brock facedown in the grass. From the beam of a deputy flashlight, she could see Brock was dressed in his duck-hunting camouflage. But seeing him down there, spread-eagled, as they frisked then handcuffed him, with a dark splotch of blood growing on his side, she knew he wasn’t going anywhere.
While Griggs was talking on the radio to the other backup deputies in law enforcement code, she holstered her gun and went to where Logan was sitting on the grass, his elbows on his knees, with a slightly dazed expression. She knelt down beside him, throwing her arms around him in r
elief.
“Are you okay?” she asked quietly, trying not to stare at the shoulder that had been shot.
“I am now.” He gave her a crooked smile. “Nice work, Mallory.”
“Medical care should be here any minute,” Griggs called out as they rolled Brock over, forcing him to sit up. Griggs reached over to jerk the black ski mask off his head, shining the bright flashlight into his face. “Well, I’ll be,” Griggs declared. “If it ain’t that fancy-dancy Portland anchorman—Brock Dennison.”
“You gotta be kidding.” O’Brian leaned down to stare hard, shaking his head in clear disbelief.
“You were right after all, Mallory,” Griggs hollered over his shoulder. “I’m sure Portland PD will be glad to know we got their killer.”
As more low enforcement flocked into the backyard, Logan told Griggs about Trent. “He’s in the garage, under a tarp by the side door. Shot bad. Needs medical care.”
“So do you.” Mallory put her hand on Logan’s good shoulder as he attempted to stand. “Why not just wait here,” she suggested. “Let your EMTs take care of you for a change.”
He sighed, leaning into her. “Good idea.”
* * *
As Mallory drove her car behind the ambulances to the hospital, she pulled out her Bluetooth to call her dad. “I’m sorry to wake you,” she said when he answered in a groggy voice.
“What’s wrong?” he demanded, “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine.” And she gave him the whole lowdown and, although she could tell he was relieved, he also sounded slightly disappointed not to have been there, to have missed out on all the action. “Well, I’m just glad you’re okay, sweetie,” he finally said. “I was kicking myself for giving up that standby tonight. I drove a rental car back to back to Iowa, but all the way there, I felt like I’d made a mistake. Like I should’ve come, anyway.”
Perfect Alibi Page 19
