Time to go. Time to move. She braced, then dashed out of cover, exposing herself for the few seconds it took her to sprint back into her bedroom.

She turned the locks on the doors to the porch, dragged them open.

The creak of the hinges sounded like a scream.

Seconds later, it felt like seconds later, he rushed into the room, eyes wild, gun sweeping. When he charged to the doors, onto the porch to look for her, she sprang from behind.

She drove the point of the letter opener between his shoulder blades. When he shouted in pain, swung around, she blocked most of the blow. But what landed struck the cheekbone already throbbing.

She used the pain to fight. Gripping his gun hand, shoving it up, she dug her nails hard into his flesh. She learned he was stronger than he looked, but nearly swept his legs out from under him as they grappled. He tried to punch out with his left, but only glanced off her shoulder. She brought her knee up, a violent piston. Though she caught more quad than balls, she saw the fresh pain ripple over his face.

And with their faces close, she got her hand on the grip of the gun. It fired twice into the ceiling.

Raylan leaped out of the car before it came to a full stop. He rammed himself against the front door. Then just whirled to the window.

He used his elbow, shattering the glass, and ignoring the tear of shards, reached through for the lock, shoving it up, vaulting through.

He didn’t have to shout for her. He could hear thuds, crashes upstairs. As he flew up them, the shots rang out.

It wasn’t terror he felt, not then, but a blind, blazing rage.

Adrian risked taking one hand off the gun, used it for a short-armed punch to JJ’s throat. He choked, gagged, but before she could follow through with a second, he shot his elbow up. It caught her under the chin and knocked her head up.

She saw stars, a thousand stars. And he managed to fling her, as his father had so many years before, so she hit the deck of the porch.

With instinct, muscle memory, she drove her hands down, pumped up her legs. He tried to dance back, tried to aim the gun.

And Raylan was on him.

She heard that ugly sound of knuckles against bone, saw them grappling for control of the gun as she shook her head to clear it. She saw blood, Raylan’s blood, and levered herself up, balled her fists as she prepared to wade in.

“Run.”

She bared her teeth. “Like hell.” She snarled it, and picked up the bloodied letter opener that had dislodged from JJ’s back.

The gun went off again, the bullet smashing through the wood of the railing. As the sound rang in her ears, the dogs leaped through the door together in one snarling, snapping mass.

JJ screamed as teeth sank into his calf, his hamstring, his shoulder. Raylan wrenched the gun away as JJ wheeled back.

He struck the railing. The crack of wood snapped like another gunshot as the force sent him, like his father, over.

Monroe, holding the bat like a man prepared to swing for the fences, dropped it, pulled Adrian back.

“Cops are coming. I hear them. We’ll get an ambulance. Don’t look, honey.”

“I’m okay. I’m okay.”

“You bet you are.” He hugged her tight, then turned her into Raylan. “Unlock the door next time, bro.”

“Sorry.” Wrapping around Adrian, he pressed his face into her hair.

“No worries. I’m going down to check on him, and call Teesha. She’ll be plenty worried.”

Because the dogs still snarled, still growled as they looked over the porch, Adrian called to them. “Quiet down. Good dogs. Sit. Stay. Stay.” She looked up at Raylan. “Stay.”

“Count on it.”

“He’s got a pulse,” Monroe called up. “Smashed himself up real good, but he’s breathing. I’ll bring the cops around.”

“Thank God.” She dropped her head on Raylan’s shoulder. “I don’t want him dead. I don’t want him dead like this, and in this house. Not in this house. How did you know to come? How did you know I needed you?”

“Sadie told me.”

“Sadie.” That broke her, broke the chain of control so the tears flowed.

Raylan picked her up, kissed her hair when she laid her head on his shoulder, and carried her downstairs.

In under twenty-four hours, Adrian had a houseful again. Her mother, Mimi, Harry, Hector, and Loren all came to join what she thought of as the Traveler’s Creek brigade.

The youth center crew sent flowers, as did the staff of Rizzo’s. Others called or came by to see her. The dogs received many gifts of chew bones, balls, and boxes of biscuits.

Friends, and family, she thought. Friends who were family.

She felt lucky; she felt blessed. She felt finally and completely safe.

She had a long phone conversation with Rachael, and cried more than a little.

Jonathan Bennett Junior would recover from his injuries. The stab wound between his shoulder blades, the black eye, bruised throat she’d inflicted. The broken nose delivered by Raylan, the multiple dog bites. And the concussion, broken leg, shattered elbow, and internal injuries sustained in the fall.

She’d been assured he’d live to spend the rest of that life in prison.

His sister broke under questioning, and provided a long, detailed statement from her hospital bed, including his confession to her that he’d killed their mother.

Considering the circumstances, no charges would be brought against Nikki Bennett.

And considering the circumstances, Adrian thought herself lucky and blessed to have survived the encounter with only some bruises, some bumps and scrapes.

She’d talked and talked and talked some more with the police, with the FBI, and for now, at least, refused any reach-outs from the media.

All she wanted was to set everything aside and just live.

She sat on the opposite side of the house from where the crew rebuilt the railing on the top porch and replaced bloodstained boards on the lower. More gratitude, she thought, as they’d simply come, unasked, as soon as the police cleared it.

So now she sat with her two oldest girlfriends, drinking lemonade. Jan and Mimi lorded over the kitchen making who knew what for what Monroe decreed would be the world’s fiercest cookout.

Monroe, she thought, her sweet friend she’d never heard raise his voice except in song, had literally run over broken glass to help her.

She looked out over the slope of the lawn, over to the mountains, down to the rooftops, the covered bridges of Traveler’s Creek.

“I think this must be the most beautiful spot in the world.”

“It ranks,” Teesha agreed. “And I want to say, again, that Hector and Loren can bunk at my place, give you some space and quiet tonight.”

“I like having them here. I love how they just showed up, knew they could. That they just needed to see me for themselves.” She glanced at Maya, shook her head. “And I can’t believe Joe talked them into going fishing.”

“It shocked him to the core of his being when he heard neither of them had ever sunk a line before. He swears we’ll be grilling up some fresh trout tonight.”

“And bless his heart for taking Phin, Collin, and Bradley along with them,” Teesha added.

“He’d have taken Mo, too, but she just said”—Maya put on her best incredulous face—“‘Why would I want to do that, Joe? Worms are slimy.’ God, I love that girl.”