He dragged her inside, pushed her toward the bed, and slammed the door, locking it behind him. He pointed the rifle at her. And smiled.

Did he torture Bree because of me?

Truman listened. The room behind the locked door had gone silent at his shout of “Eagle’s Nest police.”

A split second later loud thumps sounded, and the wooden floors vibrated through Truman’s boots. Did someone fall? The thumps were followed by deep gasps for breath. “Fucking bitch!” A gunshot roared from inside the suite.

Truman flinched at the shot but never dropped Samuel’s gaze. He nodded at his officer and gestured at the knob. Samuel immediately positioned himself and thrust a power-packed kick near the doorjamb above the knob. He stepped left into the room and Truman followed to the right. Both men froze, their weapons trained on Sandy.

The rifle was in her hands, aimed at the head of the man on the floor. His shaking hands shielded his face as he peered at her through his fingers. Lionel Kerns.

Dust filtered down from a large hole in the ceiling above Sandy, and the odor of a freshly fired rifle hung in the air. She didn’t look at the officers. All her intensity was focused through the weapon’s sights and on her target. “It’s not so fun when you’re on the wrong end of a gun, is it?” she said in a low voice. Her chest heaved, and her arms quivered. Chunks of red hair had loosened from her ponytail and dangled in her face. Blood ran from a cut on her cheek and a split lip.

But she was no victim; she was empowered. And dangerous.

“I’ll end this nightmare,” she muttered, never looking away from her target on the floor.

“Sandy,” Truman said gently. “Put down the rifle.” His own gun was still fixed on the woman.

“Not yet, Truman,” she breathed. “You don’t know what this asshole has done to me.”

Her finger is on the trigger.

Truman tightened his grip.

Don’t make me do this, Sandy.

“This is Lionel, your ex, right?” Truman asked.

“Yes.”

Lionel was a big guy, as Truman had seen on his license, but he was flabby around the middle and upper arms. Fresh blood streaked his full silver beard.

“He’s not worth it, Sandy,” said Samuel. “Don’t go to prison for the rest of your life because your anger got the best of you.”

“Shoot the bitch!” begged Lionel as blood flowed from his nose. “She’s gonna kill me.”

“Fuckhead,” Sandy said in a low voice. “You have it coming. You deserve it for breaking my arm. You deserve it for all the bloody lips and bruised cheeks. You deserve it for purposely screwing with a young woman’s mind and emotions for your own pleasure.” Her breathing hitched, and the rifle shook in her hands. “You broke me. You played an egotistical stupid game, and you broke me.”

The pain in her voice rattled Truman.

“Sandy . . . ,” Samuel said gently. “Look at me.”

She ignored him and moved the gun an inch closer to her objective. “I worked my ass off to build a damn good life after you ruined me. And you think you can waltz in and fuck it up again?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry . . .” The words slurred out of Lionel’s mouth as he spit blood.

A sharp odor reached Truman. Her ex had pissed himself.

Sandy froze as she saw the spreading wet stain on his jeans. Then she smiled. A wide, pleased smile that made the hair rise on Truman’s arms. “Well, God damn.” She took a half step back, moving the barrel of the gun away from her ex. “Look at you now, big tough man.”

She looked over at Truman and Samuel. “I’m done.” Her grin was radiant, but her eyes were slightly crazed.

Truman exhaled, lowered his weapon, and held out a hand for her rifle. With a contented look, she handed it over and touched her lip, frowning when she saw the blood on her hand.

“Roll onto your stomach,” Samuel ordered Lionel. The man obeyed. Samuel easily cuffed him and then searched him for more weapons. Finding a pocketknife, he tossed it aside. He spoke into his radio mic, informing Ben the suspect had been apprehended, and then studied Sandy with concern. “You okay, Sandy?”

“I am now.” She blotted her bloody lips with the hem of her shirt and then pulled the fastener out of her ponytail and redid it, getting the hair out of her face.

“What happened?” asked Truman. Sandy seemed ready to get back to her kitchen.

“When you announced yourself at the door, he got distracted. I yanked the rifle out of his hands and rammed the butt into his nose. He went down like a dead elephant.”

“I meant, what happened when he first arrived here?” Truman said faintly. She’s got some balls to grab a loaded gun by the barrel.

“Oh.” She frowned at the figure on the floor. “I heard someone shouting in the lobby, but I was in the kitchen. When I came out, Lionel was waving the rifle and threatening my guests. He grabbed me by the hair and forced me upstairs. Once he got in here, he decided to see how much of this room he could destroy while mouthing off about this and that.” She kicked Lionel in the ankle. “I’ve always hated it when you grabbed my hair. And you’ll pay for that broken window and vase.”

“Jesus.” Samuel ran a hand over his buzz cut. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

“Sorry about that bit at the end there, Truman,” Sandy said in a quieter voice, a contrite look on her face. “I’d never had power over Lionel before. You don’t know how many times I’ve dreamed of that moment.”

“Next time an officer tells you to put a gun down, put it down.” A full-body shudder rocked through Truman as he relived how close he’d come to shooting her.

“She never fucking listened,” muttered Lionel. He twisted his head, trying to look at her over his shoulder while lying on his stomach. Samuel crouched down next to her ex’s head and bent close, whispering something.

Truman didn’t want to know what he was telling the big man.

Lionel’s face paled under its smears of blood as Samuel’s lips continued to move.

With a tip of his head, Truman directed Sandy closer to the suite door, away from the men. “Did he do the damage to your guests’ vehicles?”

“Yes. He told me he did.”

She looked calm and collected for a woman with blood caking on her lip and cheek.

Maybe being on the right side of a gun was good therapy for her.

“He’ll probably end up in prison for what he did here today,” Truman told her.

“That’d be great.”

Truman didn’t miss the subtle quiver in her answer. The reality of her last few minutes was sinking in. Samuel noticed too.

“I’ll walk you downstairs. Let’s get someone to look at your cuts,” Samuel told her as he placed a gentle hand on the back of her arm. “You got Lionel?” he asked Truman.

“Yeah. Send Ben up when you get a chance.” He watched the two of them leave the room, pleased with what he’d seen in Samuel today. His officer had willingly gone into an active shooter situation and now was handling the victim with a gentle touch and patience.

Truman knew emotions would sneak up and swamp Sandy once she realized what could have happened today. Her body was running on adrenaline, and she would crash. He made a mental note to ask Ina Smythe to stay with her for a few days.

“He gone?” muttered Lionel into the carpet. “Can you sit me up?”

“I think you should stay in this position a little longer.” Sandy’s analogy of a dead elephant was on point.

“He threatened to smash my fingers. And my dick.”

“I didn’t hear anything.”

“Bullshit. I’m gonna file a complaint against the asshole. Guys like that shouldn’t be cops.”

Truman grinned. “Funny. I was just thinking what a great officer he is.”

“I’ll get him fired.”

“Good luck with that.” He took a deep breath and confronted Lionel dead-on. “Did you attack Bree Ingram last night?”

“Breed what?”

A chill shot through Truman’s nerves. “Last night. You assaulted another woman.”

“Bullshit. Sandy’s the only one who had it coming.”

Truth rang in the big man’s words. It wasn’t Lionel? “We’ve got your fingerprints on the knife,” he lied.

Lionel twisted his head to look at the pocketknife Samuel had tossed aside. “Well, you should. It’s mine.” His tone indicated Truman was an idiot.

Truman’s chest tightened, and he tried a different approach. “You spray-painted Sandy’s B&B, right? Then you did Bree’s stable.”

“I didn’t do no stable. Why are you asking me this shit?”

Truman stepped closer to Lionel’s head and squatted as Samuel had minutes earlier.

“You gonna threaten to break my bones now?” Lionel asked.

“You didn’t spray-paint red Xs in a horse barn or on a truck?”

“Horses? Fuck no. Who said I did? They’re lying.”

Truman stared at the prostrate man for a few long seconds, his mind racing.

I believe him. Sandy’s vandalism isn’t related to Bree’s.

Was Bree attacked because of something that happened thirty years ago?

TWENTY-SIX

“What the hell is going on?” Mercy muttered as she strode into the Eagle’s Nest Police Department. “First Bree’s attack last night and now Sandy’s today? Is the moon full?”

“Not full,” replied Ben Cooley from where he sat at Lucas’s desk. “I already checked. Trust me—our calls double when it is full. Hospital ERs swear they experience the same thing.” He was completely serious.

Mercy smiled at the older officer, pleased he appeared fine after dealing with the attack on Sandy. “What’s the word from Lucas?” she asked.

His face fell. “No change in Bree’s condition,” he said in a glum tone. “I’ve had twenty phone calls asking about Bree—and now more calls are coming in about Sandy. Those two women are important to this town.”