A loud crash from her five-year-old daughter’s room startled Paige Olson, causing her to drop the lasagna pan she’d been washing.
“Abby?” Grabbing the dishtowel on the counter, Paige quickly dried her hands, then tossed it aside to hurry over to the short hallway of her cozy two-bedroom house. Off the hallway was a bathroom, with her daughter’s room on one side and hers on the other. “Sweetie, are you all right?”
Stepping into her daughter’s bedroom, her gaze instantly found the source of the crash. Abby’s tablet was lying face down on the scuffed hardwood floor.
Paige had told her ex-husband that the tablet was too expensive for a five-year-old, but he hadn’t listened. Not that Travis ever cared about her opinions.
“Abby, where are you?” Paige noticed that Ellie, her little girl’s favorite stuffed elephant, wasn’t anywhere in sight, and quickly deduced that her daughter likely had the toy clutched in her arms under the bed. Abby often crawled beneath her bed during thunderstorms, too. Paige had just dropped to her knees to check when a loud crash, followed by a sharp report, rang through the house.
“What in the world?” Paige lifted her head over the edge of Abby’s bed, shocked to see that her daughter’s bedroom window was broken.
A second bang echoed sharply and it took Paige a moment to figure out that the noise was gunfire.
Someone was shooting at her house!
Heart thundering in her chest, she crouched beside the bed, trying to think. Her phone was in the kitchen, but she couldn’t leave Abby alone. She dropped down to all fours, peering beneath the bed frame. “Abby?” She kept her voice low. “We need to get out of here.”
Her daughter stared at her from under the bed with wide tear-stained eyes and shook her head.
Paige tried to smile reassuringly. “Come on, sweetie, someone broke your window. We need to go someplace safe.”
Abby stared at her for a moment longer, then crawled slowly across the floor, dragging Ellie the pink elephant along with her. Paige thought it was strange that Abby didn’t say anything, but right now she had bigger worries.
She had no idea why on earth anyone would shoot at her house. There must be some sort of crime in progress nearby and the gunfire had gone wide, hitting her house instead of the intended target. Nothing else made sense, and Paige desperately needed her phone to call for help.
When Abby was close enough, she reached for the little girl, gently pulling her into a warm hug. Abby buried her face in her mother’s shoulder, her entire body shaking with fear.
“Shh, it’s okay. We’re going to be fine, you’ll see.” Paige stayed on her hands and knees, awkwardly holding Abby up against her with one hand as she maneuvered across the hardwood floor toward the hallway.
As she reached the opening, she froze, wondering for the first time if she was heading into a trap. What if the gunfire was aimed at her house on purpose? What if there were bad guys making their way inside through the front door, waiting for her and Abby to head in that direction?
They had nothing worth stealing, but robbers wouldn’t know that. Violent crime in the city had recently been on the rise.
The bathroom was right next to Abby’s room, so she scuttled in that direction, practically diving inside. She quickly shut the door, locking it behind her. A frantic glance around the tiny space didn’t reveal much that could be used as a barrier against the door to prevent anyone from getting inside.
Rising to her feet, she rifled through the medicine cabinet, finding a can of hairspray that might be used as a weapon. Then she lifted Abby up and into the tub, pulling the shower curtain closed. She stretched out, so they were lying on the bottom of the ceramic tub, her body protectively covering her daughter’s.
Anyone trying to hurt them would have to get through her first.
Surely the neighbors would call the police. Mrs. Stevenson, known for being the area gossip, was probably alerting the authorities right now.
Paige snuggled Abby close, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “We’re safe now. I won’t leave you alone.”
Abby didn’t answer, and the silent tears coursing down her face ripped a hole in Paige’s heart.
Dear Lord, please don’t let anything happen to us!
* * *
Homicide Detective Miles Callahan pulled up in front of Paige Olson’s small rectangular house and shut off the engine. The hour wasn’t too late, just past seven thirty in the evening, but darkness had fallen, and there was a definite chill in the late-March air. Lights blazed from her windows, indicating Paige was home. Good. The sooner he could talk to her, the better.
He rubbed his burning eyes, knowing he couldn’t sleep until he discovered who’d killed his college roommate, Jason Whitfield. Jason worked at Sci-Tech, Inc., and had confided in Miles about the trouble he was having with his boss, Travis Olson. Unfortunately, Jason had been killed before he could give Miles the specifics. After spending hours searching for Travis, Miles had decided to visit the guy’s ex-wife to see if she knew where he was. If she did, he intended to keep pushing forward, working the case. If she didn’t, he might have to grab a few hours of shut-eye, since he’d been up since three o’clock in the morning.
Miles slid out from behind the wheel, closing the car door behind him. He’d only taken one step toward the small ranch home when the sound of gunfire burst through the night.
Instinctively, Miles pulled his weapon from his shoulder holster and dropped into a crouch behind his car, scanning the area around him. He didn’t see any sign of anyone lurking around, but that didn’t mean much. The first shot was quickly followed by another, and he estimated that the gunman must be stationed somewhere behind the house.
He quickly called for backup, but then couldn’t just sit there, waiting. Not when he knew that Travis Olson’s ex-wife and their young daughter were likely somewhere inside.
What if one of them had been hit? What if Travis Olson was inside, too, or he’d gone off the deep end, killing Jason and now attempting to eliminate everyone close to him? Jason had given Miles the impression that Travis was a man on the edge.
Miles kept his head down as he ran toward the front door. Plastering himself against the side of the gray-and-white structure, he held his gun pointing upward as he listened intently.
Silence.
All of his senses on alert, he tried the front door. The screen door wasn’t locked, but the inside door was. It was also solid and sturdy, so he quickly edged over to the large picture window. Miles kicked the window with his boot, shattering the glass. He was wearing a black leather jacket and used his elbow to brush away the broken shards that remained before throwing his leg over the sill and climbing inside.
“Mrs. Olson?” he called loudly, looking around. The living room was open to the kitchen, and there was no one in the immediate area. He could see splashes of water on the counter near a dishtowel. To the left of the living room/kitchen area was a short hallway leading to what he assumed were the bedrooms.
He could make out the glow of the light from the bedroom closest to the rear of the house. Miles kept his back to the wall as he edged closer.
“Mrs. Olson? This is Detective Callahan from the Milwaukee Police Department. I heard gunfire. Are you or your daughter hurt?”
Still