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As host and hostess of the annual Double-Barrel open house, at nine o’clock, Pic and Mandy bid the last guests goodnight. For Pic, hosting a party was a chore he didn’t enjoy, but at least he knew most of tonight’s guests. That made it a little more tolerable.
The caterers Kate hired had departed, Johnnie Sue and the local kitchen help she hired had cleaned up most of the debris and gone home. Kate had gone home too. The party was supposed to have ended at 8:00 p.m., but good liquor and good food usually kept a few late stragglers. The Lockharts were nothing if not hospitable to the local people.
“We’re going to turn in. My wife’s had it,” Drake said.
Mandy had already started turning off lights. Pic could see Shannon was so tired she was leaning against Drake for support. They said goodnight to everyone and left the living room.
“I’m gonna stay up for a while,” Dad said. “You two go on to bed.”
Uh-oh. That meant he probably intended to have a few more drinks. Where the hell were the keys to his truck? Pic gave him a once-over. He didn’t seem to be depressed. “You sure, Dad?”
“Yep. I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. By the way, you and Mandy did a good job tonight.”
“Thanks. ... Well, guess we’ll go to bed then. Sure you don’t need anything?”
“Yep.”
Pic urged Mandy out of the living room. Hand in hand they walked up the hall toward their suite. “He seems okay,” he said to Mandy. “I don’t think he drank that much. I just hope to hell he’s not gonna get shit-faced now and try to leave the house.”
“That would be like him, to screw up Christmas Eve for everyone else.”
She was obviously still irked over what happened last week. “Aww, c’mon, baby. It’s Christmas. Give him a break. He behaved like a gentleman tonight.”
“Yeah, yeah. It was a nice gathering. Harry was grateful for the gift to the school.”
“He should be. An open-ended commitment to re-doing that old gym? Who knows what kind of messes they’ll find once they tear into a project like that.”
“The food was great. We should remember the name of that caterer.”
They had been in their suite only long enough for Pic to pry off his dress boots when an unusual noise came from the front part of the house. It almost sounded like a gunshot. Frissy and Fancy began to bark. Pic’s heartbeat kicked up and he glanced at his watch. Ten o’clock.
Mandy walked out of the bathroom. “What was that? Is someone still here?”
Pic stood still and listened a few beats, but heard nothing else. “I thought Marcus was just outside the kitchen. Dad might’ve taken a shot at a coyote or something. I’ll go check.”, he walked into his dressing room, looked for the house shoes he rarely wore.
Another sharp Craaack! Startled, he stopped mid-step. What the hell? He shoved his feet into the house shoes and strode toward the door. “Stay here, Mandy.”
Mandy moved to follow him. “No. I don’t want to stay here by myself.”
Pic, his stomach trembling, was already out the bedroom door and striding toward the living room where Dad had been earlier. “Dad?” he called out.
Drake came out of his suite a few steps behind him and Mandy. “That sounded like a gunshot. What’s going on?”
No answer to Pic’s call came from the living room. A low light from the living room’s lamps spilled in an eerie fan through the doorway. “Dad?” Pic called again.
Reaching the doorway, he switched on the overhead light and looked around the room, saw nothing out of place except ... a broken window. Oh, my God. The hair stood on the back of his neck.
Craaack! Whiz! A loud pop and splat against the wood-paneled wall. Glass shattered. Ornaments fell from the Christmas tree with a tinkle.
Shit! Pic grabbed Mandy’s wrist and dropped to the floor, yanking her down with him.
Drake, too, hit the floor. “Jesus Christ! That’s a rifle.”
Marcus rushed into the room, pistol in hand. “Stay down! Stay down!”
Steve Logan stuck his head through the living room doorway. “I’m gonna check on your family,” he told Drake and hurried away.
A low groan came from the far end of the sofa. Crouched low, Marcus headed for it. Pic belly-crawled toward it. An outstretched arm extended from behind the sofa. Dad’s wristwatch. Oh, Jesus! Oh, Jesus!
Pic’s heartbeat took off, making him dizzy for a moment. Every warning Blake and Jack and even Tom Gilmore had given them zoomed through his brain at warp speed. “Oh, My God! Dad?”
Mandy sobbed. “Oh, my God! Pic—”
“Stay down, Mandy!”
Marcus reached Dad first, still in a crouch. He felt for a pulse. “He’s alive.” He spoke into the radio attached to his shoulder.
Pic belly-crawled to where his dad lay prone, soft groans coming from his throat. A single small wound showed on his back. Entry wound! Dad coughed and frothy blood oozed from his lips. Oh, Jesus!
Then Marcus was beside him, pistol drawn, pressing him down. “Don’t turn him. Stay down. I’ve called nine-one-one!”
“Nine-one-one my ass!” Drake barked from his prone position on the floor. “We need a damn chopper! ASAP! Call ’em back and tell ’em!”
Mike, Drake’s personal security man, stationed in the short hallway leading to the living room was already on his phone. “I got it, Mr. Lockhart.”
“Who’s shooting?” Drake demanded. “Where the hell are they?”
From somewhere, a strange calm came over Pic. The air around him had taken on an ethereal quality. He placed a hand on his dad’s shoulder. “Dad?... Dad, can you hear me?”
A gurgle came from his father. More frothy blood. Fighting back tears, Pic placed his mouth near Dad’s ear. “You breathing okay, Dad?”
Just then, another shot zinged into the room, shattered the Wassail bowl and hit the wood-paneled wall. Egg nog splattered and spilled to the floor. Dad groaned again. Pic placed his mouth close to his dad’s ear again. “I’m here now. We’re getting you some help.”
All that came back was a grunt.
“Forgodsake, somebody hurry,” Pic yelled.
Another shot. More shattering glass.
“I’ve gotta get back to Shannon and Will,” Drake said. Ducking low, he made his way out of the room.
Leon, the new security guard brought in for the holidays rushed into the room. “We’ve cleared all around the house. We think it’s coming from across that ridge over there.” He pointed at the window that was now without glass panes. “Turley and Chuck are headed over there. The sheriff and the Texas Rangers should be here any minute. Just lay low.”
Pic’s brain was working so rapidly, he was having trouble sorting his thoughts. All that came to the front of his mind was a mantra. Please God. Don’t let him go. Please God. Don’t let him go. “Hang in there, Dad. Help’s coming.”
“Troy and Kate,” Mandy sobbed.
“They’re okay,” Marcus said, at the same time listening to his walkie. “Sal’s with Troy. Ryan’s with Kate.”
Multiple sirens wailed in the distance. In a few more minutes, EMTs hustled into the room and took control of Dad. Another shot whizzed into the room. Everybody went flat on the floor again, but the EMTs continued to huddle over Dad, testing his heart, inserting an IV, strapping him to a gurney. “We gotcha, Mr. Lockhart,” one of them said.
Suddenly, the room lit up with bright lights. A loud whap-whap-whap came through the shot-out window as a helicopter set down on the front lawn. Flanked by two Redstone guards, the EMTs hustled the wounded Bill Junior out the front door and loaded the gurney into the chopper. It lifted off in a matter of minutes.
“We’ll follow,” Marcus said, shoving Pic toward a Redstone SUV. “We’re armored. Get in the backseat.”
Pic climbed into the backseat. Drake came in behind him.
“Where’s your wife?” Pic asked as they settled into the seat. The door slammed behind Drake and the SUV lurched forward with a squeal of tires.
Drake worked at latching his seat belt. “She and Will are with Steve Logan. Mike’s there, too. They’ll be okay. You saw the wound?”
“One entry wound,” Pic answered, locking his seat belt in place. “I think he’s hit in the lung.”
Drake looked at him, his eyes wide. He was a hunter. He knew that in an animal, a shot in the lung was usually fatal. “Oh, my God. Why do you think that?”
“Frothy blood around his mouth. I’ve seen it in deer before. I’m saying a prayer.” He grabbed on to the Jesus bar as the SUV careened around a curve. “One of us should call Mom. She should know. She should be there in case Dad”—Pic choked for a few seconds, wiped his nose on his sleeve—“in case Dad ... She still loves him, Drake.”
“I thought she went to Santa Fe.”
“I think she did, but she’s got a cell phone.”
“I don’t have my phone,” Drake said. “Hell, I was in bed.”
“I don’t have mine either. Jesus, I need to call Mandy.”
Marcus handed his own cell phone over the back of the front seat. “Use my phone.”
Pic took the phone from Marcus and pressed in his wife’s number.
***
OH, GOD. WHAT IF BILL Junior doesn’t make it?
Amanda flagellated herself for every evil thought she had of her father-in-law and every hateful thing she had said about him.
The empty ambulance had started back to Drinkwell. The helicopter was in route to Fort Worth. To what hospital, Amanda didn’t know.
She was shaking all over. She still felt an urge to check her own body for gunshot wounds. Waves of nausea were passing through her. Tears brimmed her eyelids and trailed down her cheeks. She had dealt with emergencies in her role as coach, including a near drowning once, but she had never faced a threat to her own life.
Just then, Sal DiAmato delivered Troy, his girlfriend and her son. Kate’s bodyguard Ryan and Kate appeared, too. They also brought in Johnnie Sue. Sal left immediately, hauling Troy and Kate to the Fort Worth hospital where they were taking Bill Junior. The world went eerily silent. The tense group milled and huddled like cattle anticipating a storm. Finally, Johnnie Sue said, “I’ll make a fresh pot of coffee.”
Amanda jumped at the warble of a phone. Then she remembered. Since she hadn’t yet undressed for bed, her phone was still in her sweater pocket. She dug for it. The words “Private Number” lit up the screen. Oh, God. What does that mean? With trembling fingers, she keyed into the call. “Hello?”
“Mandy, it’s Pic. Everybody okay there?”
“I think so. Oh, Pic, I’m so scared.”
“Just do what they tell you, baby. Let them take care of you. I love you, Mandy.”
“I love you, too, Pic” she sobbed.
“Are Shannon and Will with you?”
“They’re in Drake’s suite with Steve Logan. Listen Pic, I heard them talking on those walkies. They say they’ve picked up someone. They’re taking him to the jail in town. I think we’re okay now.”
“Who is it?”
Mandy looked directly at Leon. “Who did they arrest?”
“Didn’t get his name, ma’am,” the bodyguard answered.
“We don’t know,” she told Pic.
“Don’t worry. I’ll find out. I’m gonna hang up now, sugar. I’ll call you back when I know more.” He disconnected.
Suddenly, Amanda’s knees turned to jelly and she felt faint. She braced a hand against the wall. “I have to sit down.” She looked up at the new temporary bodyguard. “Is it okay if I sit down?”
“I’ll get you a chair,” he said, holstering his pistol.
She sagged against the wall, letting out a breath. Seconds later, Leon brought in a chair from the dining room and she sank onto it.
She was just beginning to calm and regain her composure when a commotion came from up the hallway. “Mike!” Steve Logan’s voice barked. “Call that ambulance back. Mrs. Lockhart’s in labor.”
“She can’t be!” Mandy cried and leapt to her feet. “We’re thirty-eight miles from town.” She strode into the hallway.
Shannon appeared, heading toward the living room, propping herself against the hallway wall with one hand and hanging on to her belly with the other. Steve was at her elbow. “Will,” she said weakly.
“I’ve got him, Mrs. Lockhart,” Mike said and started toward the suite she had just left.
“Everything’s okay, Mrs. Lockhart,” Steve said. “The shooting’s over. Try to be calm.”
Reaching the living room, he grabbed the chair Mandy had been sitting in and carefully eased Shannon down.
Shannon grimaced in pain. “I’m so sorry,” she said between huffs.
“The ambulance is on its way.”
Shannon laughed, a nervous titter. “We’re so far out of town.”
“No problem,” Steve said calmly. “We’ve been here before, remember?” He glanced at his watch.
“I caught the ambulance,” Leon said, lowering his mike. “It’s only about half-way back to town. It’s turning around. Just a few more minutes.”
Amanda expelled a huge breath and leaned a shoulder against the wall.
Shannon gave a little outcry and grabbed the chair arm as another pain gripped her. Then, “Oh, dear God,” she sobbed out.
Her whole body still trembling, Amanda jerked her gaze to her sister-in-law. Shannon was bent forward. A puddle was forming under her chair. For a split-second, Amanda thought only of the chair seat’s expensive tapestry upholstery.
“Oh, baby,” Shannon whimpered. “Please, please wait...”
Steve’s voice interrupted Mandy’s inapt thought. “We need some towels.”
Amanda stared at him blankly.
“You heard him. Get some towels,” Sarah demanded of Johnnie Sue. The housekeeper quickstepped away.
Steve looked down at Shannon, offering his hand. “Hang on to my hand, Mrs. Lockhart. Grip as hard as you need to. Try not to push.”
All at once, the hours of emergency training Amanda had practiced over the years took control and her brain began to work again. She could do this. She collected herself. “If—if possible, you should get her to Camden.”
