THE RIFLE CLATTERED TO THE GROUND and Barone tilted forward, screaming. He fell out of the chair. Abby kept her gun trained on him, ready to shoot again if he tried to reclaim the rifle. But he didn’t. He simply writhed and bled a lot. Luke was there in a flash, kicking the rifle away. Sirens were closer, but Abby could tell by the bright-red blood she’d hit an artery. She’d aimed for his shoulder, a part exposed and free of the vest, and had hit where she wanted. Obviously the bullet had done a lot of damage.

“He’s a mess.” Luke knelt next to him.

Abby approached them, gun pointed away. “We have to find Callie.”

“He’ll bleed to death.”

“I won’t let him die.”

They both turned as Molly limped toward them, grimacing in pain, sweatshirt off. She got on her good knee, casted leg out to the side next to Gil, and made a pressure bandage with her sweatshirt. He writhed around but was obviously growing weaker.

“I’ve got this,” Molly said, face confidently set. “Find Callie.”

Abby looked at Luke and he stood. Together they jogged into the garage. Behind them the first emergency vehicles pulled up. They heard Molly yelling to them that Barone needed immediate attention.

With the sounds of emergency vehicle traffic behind them, Abby called for Callie and strained to hear if there was any response. In spite of the noise of diesel engines as fire trucks pulled up, Abby heard banging.

“Over here.” She pointed to the van and Luke tried to open the side door.

“It’s locked. I need to find the key to get it open.” He glanced at the scene around Barone and knew asking him for the keys was not an option. He moved around to the front of the van and peered in the window. “I can’t see anything.” He tried the front door, and it too was locked.

He looked around and grabbed a bat leaning against the wall. Abby stepped back as he smashed the window. In another second he had the side door sliding open.

Abby was aware that several officers had joined them in the garage as Luke jumped inside, moved the bike, and tenderly picked up the bound girl. Abby watched as his large, strong hands gently removed the duct tape from the weeping girl, telling her it was all going to be okay now.

“Callie!” Molly called out. Abby saw that the paramedics had taken over with Barone, and Molly came toward them, supported by a firefighter.

Luke lifted Callie out of the van and set her on shaky legs, and the girls embraced. The officers turned questioning looks their way, and Abby explained what had happened as the firefighter stepped forward to check Callie’s injuries.

Molly wiped her eyes and looked at Abby. “You were right yesterday. I know that now.” She hugged Abby. “Thank you for not letting the bad guy win.”

“Thank God, Molly. Thank God. He is our help in every situation.” Abby wiped the girl’s tears.

Molly nodded. Callie called for Molly and she went to her sister.

“Amen to that,” Luke said as Abby stepped back to where he stood. His warm gaze soothed her and he held out his hand. “Great shot. I knew you’d have my back. Faye will be thrilled by our success today.”

His brilliant smile cut Abby two ways. She wanted his excitement and happiness directed her way but realized she was too late; he was already captivated by someone else.

Abby was still processing the events of the morning when her phone rang.

“Abby, where are you?” It was Bill, and his voice sounded uncharacteristically tense.

“I’m in Tehachapi with Luke and Woody. Why? What’s the matter?”

She and Luke were sitting in an office at the police station, eating sandwiches. They’d spent hours at the scene as the local cops went through Barone’s residence. Besides the body in the driveway, there was a second body in the backyard, identified as Barone’s partner, Bart Meechum. But the man in the driveway had no ID. His face had taken the brunt of a blast that had been tentatively identified as a bomb, a booby trap rigged to explode at the front door. Who he was, why he was there, and why Barone killed him were mysteries.

Luke and Abby had been excused to get something to eat and were waiting for a debriefing by the detectives in charge.

“Something has come up,” Bill said. “A family doing an excavation in their backyard —they were going to put in a pool. They dug up a skeleton.”

“Yeah?” Wary now, Abby frowned. “What does that have to do with me?”

Luke reached over and placed his hand over hers, apparently reading her angst.

“Body had been wrapped in plastic and the clothing was still intact, and in the back pocket was a wallet with ID and credit cards. The ID . . . Well, Abby, the ID belongs to your father, Buck Morgan.”

“What?” Abby’s body went numb. She felt a roaring in her ears as her pulse raced.

Luke tightened his grip on her hand, but she barely noticed. She saw him staring, concern in his eyes. He mouthed something —it might have been “What’s wrong?” —but she couldn’t hear the words.

“We’ll need DNA to be certain,” Bill was saying, “but this might be your dad.”