Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Darby scooped up Bandit then darted down the hallway. A figure moved below the staircase and fired at her. The bullet shattered a photo frame on the wall beside her.
Something stung at her but she didn’t stop. She ran into the main bedroom, slamming and locking the door. Mia had shown her a saferoom Kent had built into the back of her closet a few years earlier. She prayed she could still find it.
Bandit continued barking. She dropped him and pushed back the clothes, relieved when she spotted the handle and flung open the door.
The bedroom doorknob rattled. Darby picked up Bandit again.
Someone was out there. After a moment, they pounded on the door, trying to break it open.
She stepped into the safe room with Bandit. Shut and locked the door. Sat on the floor, the dog huddled against her.
The bedroom door gave way with a crash.
The assailant didn’t know about the safe room, but he would see the pushed-back clothing and the door. Darby covered her ears and fought the urge to cry out.
Clay will come for me. Clay will stop him.
At the sound of a fist banging on the safe-room door, Bandit snarled and growled. He threw himself against the door, trying to escape. She was certain he would attack the moment the door burst open, no match for the intruder’s gun.
Gunfire sounded outside the door.
The banging stopped.
Fast footsteps, down the hall. More gunfire.
She grabbed the dog and unlocked the door, curious to know what was happening. Clay stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at a man at the bottom.
Bandit jumped from her arms and darted down the stairs after the man, lunging at him.
The man shoved Bandit away then raised his gun and fired again at Clay. He turned and ran. Bandit took off after him.
Instead of chasing the man, Clay turned to check on Darby. She ran to him and fell into his arms and he held her, his heart pounding as hard as hers.
“Are you hurt? Did he get to you?” he said, his voice husky with fear.
“I’m okay. Bandit alerted me and we hid, but the intruder found us. I thought he’d break down the door.”
“Your cheek.” He touched it and pain stung her. His hand came back with blood. “You are hurt.”
“Glass from the frame.” She turned to point to the photo still hanging on the wall and the glass scattered on the floor. “It’s not bad.”
“I’m sorry, Darby. I let him get past me.”
Sirens sounded outside and police cars lined the street. “We should go. You need to get that cut looked at. The police will have questions.”
“And we should find the dog,” she insisted. “Mia and the kids will worry if he runs off.”
She gave silent thanks for his steadiness as he led her down the stairs and outside to talk to the police. Clay gave a better description of the assailant than she could remember.
A paramedic took Darby to a waiting ambulance parked behind the rows of Sheraton police cruisers. Apparently, the town had no shortage of officers to respond to a break-in for this neighborhood.
“You have some glass shards embedded in your cheek,” the paramedic explained. “Nothing too serious. Won’t even need stitches.”
It could have been much worse, and she knew it. That bullet could have hit her head instead of the glass frame.
Clay appeared at the ambulance bay with a surprise—a tired but safe Yorkie.
“Bandit! Thank goodness.” She took the dog and cuddled it in her relief. This family loved their pooch.
“I spoke with the police, but they’ll still want to talk with you. Are you up for it?”
“Nope.” The paramedic looked up into Clay’s face. “Not till I’m done here.”
Before they could respond, a white SUV pulled up to the scene and parked. Mia Holmes hopped out, took in the shattered front window of her home as well as Darby and Bandit. She ran to the ambulance.
“Darby, are you okay?” Her voice was frantic with worry. “Is Bandit okay? What happened?”
“I’m fine.” She handed Bandit to Mia, who cradled him. “Someone broke into the house while I was here, but Bandit fought them off. He’s a good dog.”
She gave a relieved smile then rubbed Bandit’s chin. “Yes, he is a good dog. You’re okay though, right?”
“Yes, just some glass in my cheek.”
“Thank goodness.” She glanced at her house again and fear crept in. “Did the police catch this intruder?”
“He got away,” Clay told her.
She eyed him. “Who are you?”
“A friend of Darby’s.”
“Mia, I’m sorry about your house. I’ll find someone to clean up the mess.” She had no idea who. But she’d find someone.
“Fine. I should get the kids from school and take them to my in-laws.” Mia called to the officer who headed their way. “When I can get back into my house?”
“The lead officer will have to tell you. I’m forensics. Just here to get a sample from the dog.”
Mia pulled the dog tighter against her. “What kind of sample?”
“It looks like the dog bit the intruder. I’ll swab his teeth and hopefully get some human DNA.”
“Will that hurt him?” Mia asked him.
“Absolutely not. We have a crime-scene crew inside, gathering prints and any blood DNA. After they’re done, the police will tell you when you can go in.” Mia held Bandit, her arms shaking, while the officer swabbed him then hurried off.
The paramedic cleaned the wound then placed a bandage on Darby’s cheek. “All done.”
Darby hopped down from the ambulance and turned to Mia. “I’m so sorry for this.”
Mia gave her a gracious smile then hugged her. “This isn’t your fault, Darby. I’m just sorry it happened while you were here. He must have been trying to rob the house, and you interrupted him.”
That wasn’t what happened, but Darby didn’t correct her. Something about admitting someone was trying to kill her and she’d brought that drama to her client’s home didn’t seem right.
But Mia would learn the truth eventually, since the police had made a report. She had to do the right thing.
“You’ll likely hear this from the police, but I believe the man who broke in was after me. Yesterday, someone abducted me from my home. I assume he saw me here and tried to grab me. The intruder wasn’t looking for jewelry or electronics. He was after me.”
“You knew you were in danger, and you still came?” Mia frowned, her eyes narrowing as her tone changed from concern to bitterness. “You brought this danger into my home?”
She recoiled at Mia’s anger then scrambled to explain. “I’m sorry. Trudy’s mother had an accident, and I couldn’t find anyone else to cover for her. I had to do the job.”
Mia glanced at her house, its bullet holes in the windows and the police on her lawn and shook her head, her lips pursed and her face firm.
“There’s no excuse for this, Darby. I’m sorry, but I can’t let this go.
What if my children had been home? What if I had been home?
You’ve placed us all in danger. I won’t allow that to happen again. I don’t need your services any longer.”
Tears pressed against Darby’s eyes. She wasn’t surprised by Mia’s reaction, but she’d hoped for a little grace.
Only, Mia wasn’t wrong. Mia had a nine-month-old and a four-year-old who attended pre-K in the mornings.
How would Darby feel if she and the kids had been home when this man had broken in?
If someone had been injured or killed, it would have been her fault.
Not only that, but Mia would share her story, which would hurt Darby’s business. She couldn’t afford another hit to her reputation.
Could this day get worse?
She glanced up and saw Suzanne, standing outside the police line, phone in hand, a big smile on her face.
Whether she took pictures or made a video, it wouldn’t turn out well for Darby.
He hadn’t been quick enough.
Guilt flooded Clay as he finished his conversation with the officers. The dog had saved the day while he’d nearly been too late.
The Sheraton police officers seemed reluctant to share the details of the case with him. Understandable, since they didn’t know he was FBI, and he wasn’t ready to give that away. But he’d seen enough to know this had been a serious attack.
He let Cooper know what had happened then returned to Darby.
She stood alone by the ambulance, arms crossed tight against her chest, hands trembling.
Her jaw was set, but her eyes—those defiant, glassy with unshed tears eyes—betrayed the fear she tried to bury.
The homeowner’s accusations had hit hard, and Clay hated that Darby got hit with fallout from a situation he should’ve prevented.
His throat tightened. He hadn’t failed this bad since Denton. And that failure had cost lives.
Not this time.
Darby looked up as he approached her. “Can we go now?” Her voice sounded steady, but just barely.
He stepped closer, touched her arm gently. She didn’t pull away. “Yeah. Let’s get out of here.”
He glanced at her van, boxed in by police cruisers. “I can drive you home. Ask one of the officers to return the van later.”
“No.” She shook her head, jaw stiff. “I don’t want it sitting here any longer than it has to. It’s already bad enough. My name is on that van, and if someone posts a picture of it …” She pulled the keys from her pocket. “I need to go before the vultures show up.”
Clay scanned the street. No news vans yet, but the crowd beyond the tape swelled by the minute. He nodded. “I’ll talk to the officer in charge.”
After a quick check, the cops cleared the van, and Clay returned to find Darby already behind the wheel. She gripped it as if it was the only thing keeping her grounded.
He followed her home, tension tightening with every mile. Vulnerable, exposed—she still drove, still pushed forward, still did ask for help. She was tough, but tough didn’t mean unbreakable.
At her house, she parked in the garage. He joined her as she moved wordlessly to the dogs, feeding them as if auto pilot carried her more than intention. He stood guard, watching her. Once inside, she collapsed into a chair, eyes on her phone.
She groaned and turned the screen toward him.