CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Bree’s heart catapulted into her throat.
Mud shot from under the giant animal’s hooves as it rushed across the barnyard. Bree raised her AR-15, putting the huge beast in her crosshairs. Where did one aim to take down an animal of that size? The head? The heart? Where was the heart exactly? How many bullets would it take to bring him down?
Deputies scattered, diving behind cover and jumping over fences. Collins hauled Greta back into the dairy barn and slid the door almost closed. The only cover for Bree, Matt, and Todd was the barn they’d just exited—the same barn Bree assumed the bull should be in.
If they locked themselves in the barn, they’d be stuck there—with the bull outside—and Grace still being held somewhere on the property.
That couldn’t happen. They had to find her before the Zoleks decided it was too much effort to drag her along with them. She could testify against them. They wouldn’t leave her behind alive.
Her finger curled around the trigger as she aimed at the beast’s head. But the bull came to an impressive sliding stop in the middle of the yard. Pawing at the ground, he sent puddle water and chunks of mud flying. His wet hide glistened in the barnyard light. He rushed another couple of feet, then slammed his front hooves into the ground.
Bree swore the earth shook. Rain blurred her vision. Blinking, she adjusted her grip on her rifle. “How do we get him back in his stall?”
“Carefully?” Matt asked.
The bull dropped his head and hunched his shoulders. His neck craned and swayed as he side-eyed them.
“We need him contained so we can find Grace,” Matt said. “You and Todd cover me from both sides.”
Bree sidled toward the fence that met the corner of the barn. Todd slow-walked behind a few empty barrels. Bree stepped behind a partition. The bull seemed confused, torn between which one of them he wanted to rush. He turned in a circle and bobbed his head.
Matt moved away from Bree, then took off his hat and waved it. “Hey, bull. Here, boy.”
“What are you doing?” she hissed.
“Getting him to chase me.” Matt stepped squarely into the opening to the barn.
“You are not a bullfighter.”
“Do you have a better idea?”
“I do not,” she admitted. “But I don’t have to like yours.” But he was right. They didn’t have time to waste—not if they were going to save Grace.
Matt whistled. The bull spotted him and pawed the mud. Bree’s lungs locked down.
If that animal trampled Matt ...
Pushing aside the thought, Bree slid her finger inside the trigger guard and aimed at the animal’s head. A three-round burst through its skull should stop it.
She didn’t like to operate in shoulds.
Matt walked backward, still waving the hat. “Here, boy. Come on.”
The bull bellowed, dropped its head, and hunched, muscles bunching, preparing to launch. It shot forward, its agility and speed impressive—almost incredulous—considering its sheer bulk. Matt spun and took off like a sprinter. He raced into the stall and waited for one heartbeat, until the bull was nearly on top of him. Then he vaulted the cinder block sidewall. The bull charged into the space and stopped. His hooves slid on the bedding. He spun, bellowing and shaking his head.
Matt circled around to the stall door, then closed and locked it. Inside, the bull slammed against the door. The entire barn rattled.
Bree breathed and lowered the rifle. The adrenaline dump left her shaky and a little nauseated. But there was no time to recover. “Let’s get out of here.” She led the way out of the barn. “I’m not sure that stall is going to hold.”
Matt followed, closing the big rolling barn door behind him. He doubled over, hands on his thighs, and took two deep breaths.
“You all right?” She rested a hand on his shoulder.
“Yep, but that was hairy.”
“No shit.” Bree was still queasy, and she hadn’t been the one in danger. She’d come to depend on him—and not just for the physical help with the animals, kids, and work. She depended on him in a way she’d never allowed herself to depend on anyone before. Her heart needed him. He was her sanity when life went sideways, her solace when times were hard, and he amplified her happiness when times were good. Everything was better and easier with him in her life. Just the thought of losing him made her chest ache with an unbearable emptiness.
Matt straightened. “Let’s find Grace.”
Collins and Greta emerged from the dairy barn, and everyone got back to work. Greta raised her head, her nose working, sniffing the air.
“Has she caught any scent yet?” Bree asked.
“No.” Collins shook her head. “But it’s a big property. We’ve only begun.”
Todd jogged over. “Both barns, the two sheds, and the garage are clear. We found fresh tire tracks behind the garage.”
“Where did they go?” Bree scanned the farm.
Todd pointed. On the other side of the open field, the black shape of the old barn and silo jutted into the night sky.
“Which vehicles were in the garage?” Matt asked.
“A Honda Accord and a pickup truck,” Todd said. “There’s one empty bay.”
“Find out what Sandy Zolek drives and put a BOLO out on the vehicle and on Sandy and Eric. We’re going to follow the tracks.”
Todd stepped aside to use his radio.
Matt fell in beside Bree. “That old barn has plenty of room.”
“In the middle of nowhere too,” Bree said. “You could scream until your voice gave out. No one would hear you.”
Todd waved a few deputies to remain behind. The rest of them loaded into vehicles and started across the field. They parked a hundred feet shy of the old barn and got out. The silo stood another fifty feet behind the barn.
As soon as Collins unloaded Greta from the rear of the K-9 unit, the dog’s head snapped to and she began to lean into her harness. She’d caught a scent. Following the dog’s lead, the deputies moved faster, as if the dog’s energy were contagious.
Bree slipped on a patch of mud and went down on one knee. Pain zinged through her leg. She held her rifle out of the muck and lurched to her feet again. Half the team headed toward the old barn, but the dog beelined to the silo. She sniffed the weeds at its base, stopped at the door, sat, and whined.
“Good girl,” Collins crooned. She yanked a stuffed hedgehog out of the cargo pocket of her pants and tossed it to the dog. Greta caught it in the air, sank her teeth into the toy, and gave its neck a sharp shake. Wagging her tail, she made it squeak over and over, like a small animal in distress.
Glancing at the dilapidated barn, Bree gestured for Todd to clear the broken-down building. He and two deputies veered off. Bree approached the silo’s door. The wooden door looked to be thick and was secured with a heavy-duty padlock. “We’re going to need bolt cutters.”
“Bree!” Matt lunged forward and grabbed her elbow. “Stop!”
She froze. “What’s wrong?”
He pointed, his face grim. She followed his gaze upward. In the beam of his flashlight, a clump of brownish-red sticks was affixed over the door, just under a small eave, about two feet above her head.
A booby trap.
She barely breathed out the word. “Dynamite.”