Chapter Fourteen
“Charlie-23 and Charlie-24 I’m receiving multiple silent alarms at 30325 West Windmill Road,” the dispatcher advised.
Shit! Some moron was breaking into my parent’s ranch or our temporary substation. How stupid was that? There were cops there all the time. “Show me en route and has anyone called the substation?”
“I did and no one answered,” the dispatcher replied.
“Copy.” Hmmm. That was weird.
“Charlie-24 I’m responding.”
“George-20 copies and show me en route,” Sergeant Bergman said.
My cellphone rang. I glanced at my dashboard. I had an incoming Bluetooth call from the Sheriff’s Office. “Stone.”
“Are they suicidal?” Julie asked.
I snickered. “Either that or the CIA is trying to breach our computers again.”
“Agent Grimes said they had all been kicked back to D.C.”
“They want Eric Roberts too badly to tuck tail and run. Plus, they still think we’re hiding information from them.”
“True. I’m about ten minutes out,” Julie advised.
“Okay, I’m pulling up to the gate now.” I frowned. “There are two livestock trailers parked in the driveway.”
“Did your dad buy more cattle?”
“Not that I know of.” My gaze froze on two men lying face down on the ground. “Oh shit! We have officers down.”
“I’m going code three.” The link severed.
Tossing my cellphone on the seat, I blocked the gate with my patrol car and keyed my radio mic, “Dispatch, send me additional units and the paramedics. I have unauthorized vehicles on scene and two officers down.”
“Copy Charlie-23.”
Turning the volume down on my radio, I noticed two of those wannabe cowboys trying to load Max into a horse trailer.
Max reared up and kicked at the cowboys.
A cowboy wearing a Mexican sombrero jammed a cattle prod against Max’s rump, forcing him into the trailer.
His scream made me sick to my stomach. Those bastards were going to pay for hurting Max.
Sombrero raised the cattle prod again.
I shot it out of his hand.
Shrieking blue bloody murder, sombrero clutched his hand and ran off.
His buddy pulled an old-fashioned six-shooter and fired wildly.
Damn, he couldn’t hit the broad side of the barn. I shot him in both arms and legs. He wasn’t going to be able to shoot another officer or hurt our critters.
“You fucking bitch, I’m going to kill you,” he screeched.
Eight men poured out of the substation with weapons drawn.
Shit! I dived over the three-foot patio wall. Seconds later, a barrage of bullets struck the brick. I hit the emergency button on my radio.
The dispatcher’s muted voice asked, “Charlie-23 what is the nature of your emergency?”
Seriously? Like officers down didn’t give her a clue that I was being shot at. Scrambling on my hands and knees, I headed for the patio doors. If I could get inside, I could lock myself in the command center until help arrived.
A big, bear of a man wearing a clown’s mask, stepped out of the shattered glass doors. He raised a double-barreled shotgun.
Fuck! I rolled behind a huge Mexican flowerpot. Boom! Shards of pottery pelted my face. I popped up and fired.
The man toppled backward into the house.
The crack of a high-powered rifle sounded.
Before I could move, pain exploded in the middle of my back, dropping me like a rock. I landed on the clown. Black dots danced in my vision as I struggled to breathe. God that hurt. Once again, my vest had saved the day. Up. I had to get up. I hit the emergency button on my radio again.
“Charlie-23 your backup is five minutes out,” the dispatcher advised.
“Your backup is never going to arrive,” a harsh voice commented. He kicked my gun away.
I held the transmit button down on my radio and gasped, “Why?”
“We planted landmines on the highway just before Chuck Hennessy’s house. The one you blew all to hell. Now we are going to return the favor. If you listen closely, you might even hear the screams of the dying.”
I hadn’t hit any landmines. Was he bluffing? My voice a wheezy rasp, I asked, “What. Do. You. Want?”
“Vengeance.”
My vision finally cleared. The man standing over me had to be Grandpa’s age. I blinked. Whoa! The left side of his face was a mass of scar tissue. He was wearing a black Stetson, black velvet pants and a red silk shirt with silver buttons. “For. What?”
The man frowned. “Why aren’t the landmines exploding?” His gaze fixed on the radio clutched in my hand. “You little bitch!” He shoved a cattle prod into my stomach and triggered it.
A scream tore from me as a horrific electrical shock triggered every muscle in my stomach to contract in the world’s worst Charley horse.
Scarface picked up my radio. “If I see any cops within a mile of this place, your deputy is a dead woman.”
“What do you want?” Sergeant Bergman demanded.
“To end the Alpha Dogs.” Scarface threw the radio on the ground and stomped on it until it shattered into pieces. He gestured at me. “Bring her.”
Two goons jerked me to my feet and dragged me over to a cattle hauler.
Scarface brutally grabbed my face and forced my head up. “You will get that bull into the hauler.”
“If I don’t?”
“I will kill him.”
One look at his cold, dead eyes and I knew he wasn’t bluffing. “I need oats.”
“Billie Bob, get her some oats,” Scarface commanded.
He rushed off.
“You’re. Eric Roberts,” I wheezed.
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “That man died in the bomb blast. Your grandfather is quite clever at hiding his trip wires. I chose to become James Bass. I now run a cattle ranch called Triangle 8.”
“You… run,” I rasped, “Cochise Cowboys.”
He released me. “You are a clever girl, just like your mother.”
Billie Bob hurried up with a pail of oats and handed it to me.
Bodacious bellowed in fury and slammed into the gate.
“Put her in the hauler,” Bass ordered.
His goons carried me up to the feed trough and handcuffed me to a metal slot. My eyes widened in surprise. Edgar and Miss Kitty were hiding in the loose hay. I stepped in front of them.
“If the bull isn’t in the hauler in sixty seconds, I will shoot him.” Bass racked his shotgun. “Open the gate.”
Bodacious charged out.
I held up the pail of oats and squeaked, “Bodacious. Oats.”
With a snort, he came straight to me and sniffed my face.
The goons quickly raised the ramp and locked it in place.
Bodacious stomped his feet and bellowed.
I scratched his ears. “I know, buddy. We’re in big trouble.”
One of the Cochise Cowboys pointed at the sky. “There’s a drone, boss.”
“I see it.” Bass picked up a rifle and shot it down.
I caught a flash of movement by the barn. Had the cavalry arrived in time?
Bass studied the area around the barn for a long moment, then shouted, “I’ve booby trapped the place with bombs, Reynolds. Do you think you can disarm all of them in time?”
Grandpa yelled back, “I do. Let Gemma go. This is between you and me.”
Kaboom! Grandpa’s RV blew into a million pieces. The flaming debris caught the barn on fire.
“Grandpa,” I cried.
Laughing like a madman, Bass walked over to me and yanked on the handcuffs. I slammed against the metal wall.
“We are going to get to know each other really well.” Bass jabbed a needle into my arm. “Soon you will be screaming my name.”
I pulled on the handcuffs. “You are a dead man. Do you hear me? A dead man.”
Bass kept laughing and climbed into the semi-truck’s cab.
“Bastard!” I pulled my body camera off and slid it through one of the slots. It was my only hope of rescue. A wave of weariness rolled over me.
The semi-truck rammed my patrol car, knocking it out of the way. I saw Billie Bob toss something through the window.
What the hell?
Kaboom! My patrol car erupted into a ball of flames and my stash of chocolate was gone forever.
Edgar jumped on my lap.
“Armageddon is gonna rain down on your ass,” I whispered and everything faded to black.