“I didn’t.”
Her eyes widened further. “You did this on your own?”
“I won’t charge them for it.” Lorie fought the defensiveness rising inside her. Surely as head librarian, she was entitled to a few judgment calls.
“Those locks haven’t been changed since 1958.”
Lorie straightened her spine and placed both fists on her hips. “All the more reason. I had Ike put in a dead bolt.”
“How’m I supposed to get in there?”
Lorie pulled one key off the tiny twist of wire and handed it to her. “Guard it with your life.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Seriously, just put it on your key ring and don’t lose it. We only have the two. I guess we’ll have to have another made for Mitzi’s weekend shifts. Come on, let’s check out the dead bolt and make certain both these keys work.”
Lorie locked and unlocked the shiny brass lock with her key, and had Jen do the same.
The sight of the lock gave Lorie’s spirit such a lift, she broke into a grin. “That looks like it should keep out all but the most determined burglar.”
Her good mood lasted only until closing. Lorie’s heart began to race the moment she locked the door behind the last patron of the day. Soon she’d have to go home. Would the car that had almost driven her off the road be waiting for her again?
God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind. Yep. That was true. But He also expected us to use the good sense He gave us.
Magnolia blossoms scented the summer air as Lorie and Jen reached the parking lot.
“See you tomorrow.”
Lorie waved at Jen as she keyed the lock on her Mustang. It opened with a friendly chirp. Letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, Lorie climbed into the car.
Lord, I can’t keep reacting this way. Please help me.
Driving home, Lorie kept glancing in her rearview mirrors. She’d know that mean-looking car anywhere. If it followed her again—
It didn’t. Her afternoon commute was completely uneventful.
Her dreams were another story.
* * *
Friday morning dawned with streaks of pink and purple daubing the horizon. Cardinals, white-throated sparrows and a persistent mourning dove greeted Lorie right after the three cats jumped on her bed and reminded her it was time for breakfast.
She blinked at them blearily. “All right. I’m up.” Lorie shoved off her mamaw’s multicolored story quilt and swung out of bed.
Colleen, the sable-and-white rough collie, wagged a bushy tail.
Mornings in Wolf Hollow were an entirely different species from mornings in suburban San Diego. Here, no motorcycles vied to see which could be the loudest. That contest was reserved for the birds, whose chirping and calls made her glad she was here. Mostly.
After feeding the menagerie and herself breakfast, Lorie noticed the rural postal delivery pickup stop at her mailbox. Hannah was early today.
“Want to go to the mailbox?”
Colleen wagged and pranced by the door.
Throwing on a straw cowboy hat, Lorie opened the door for Colleen. The three cats raced outside, almost tripping her. Winken, Blinken and Nod had been impulse names that seemed to fit when she first met them, but proved to be appropriate only half the time. When they were awake, they were in constant motion. Off on a critter hunt now, no doubt. As long as they didn’t bring home any rodents or birds, Lorie had no objections.
The morning air smelled of Old Blush China roses and magnolia blossoms. The tree-lined lane was alive with birdsong.
Then, suddenly, it wasn’t.
Stopping in the middle of the lane, Colleen growled.
“What is it, girl?”
Nerves heightening, Lorie scanned the lane and the road for signs of intruders. Straining her ears to listen, Lorie could hear only the distant whine of a semi changing gears on Bobcat Hill.
No crashing in the underbrush. Only silence, with Colleen’s low growl an undertone.
Lorie was halfway to the mailbox. Glancing back at the house, the sensation of being watched grew too strong to ignore.
“Colleen. Come.”
Heading back toward the house, Lorie broke into a run. Something loud buzzed near her ear as her hat flew off her head. A split second later, she heard the report of a rifle.
Lord, help!
Lorie ran, Colleen keeping pace.
Another gunshot ripped through the meadow, a bullet thudding into the magnolia. Lorie ducked behind an oak. Why had she left her cell phone on the nightstand?
After darting from tree to tree, Lorie hesitated. There was little cover in front of the house. Could she make it inside without getting shot?
Wishing she had more experience with dodging and running, Lorie prayed and dashed for the front door. As she tripped on the step, a bullet struck the door frame where she should have been standing and ricocheted into the porch overhang. Lorie threw open the screen. Colleen bounded inside with Lorie on her heels.
Slamming the front door and locking it, Lorie raced to the phone and dialed 911. The emergency operator sounded rational and calm.
“I’m being shot at!” Tossing grammar to the wind, Lorie explained the situation in a few terse words.
“Can you see the shooter?”
“No. Please send someone soon.”
“Relax, ma’am, and stay on the line. I’ve already notified the sheriff’s department, and they have a deputy en route.”
Lorie barely heard the reassurance, straining every part of her to listen for another shot. Colleen padded over to the window and looked out. Noticing, fear stole Lorie’s breath for a moment, but she forced herself to speak.
“Colleen, come!”
The dog hurried to her side by the phone table and leaned into her.
The 911 operator was saying something else.
“What? I’m sorry.”
“I asked if you have anyone with you.”
Lorie reached down to pat Colleen’s elegant head. “Just my dog. The cats are outside.” The realization of their danger slammed a blow to her stomach. “Oh, no, my cats are outside.” Please, Lord, keep them safe.
In the distance, the sound of a siren reached her ears. Please protect the deputy, Lord. The metallic slam of a door up on the road preceded a motor suddenly roaring to life.
“Tell the deputy I think the shooter is headed his way.”
* * *
Matt was near the southern end of his regular patrol when the call came in from dispatch. The address on Wolf Hollow Trail didn’t strike an immediate chord, but earlier in the month, he’d busted a marijuana growing operation south of there, in Oak Hill. Wondering if this call of shots fired was related, Matt turned left onto the Trail.
Moments later, Dispatch crackled over the radio again.
“The shooter may be headed your way. Do you copy?”
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