[12]

Steven had waved to the officer watching the house and approached the front door. He lifted a finger to punch the bell again when the door opened, revealing Haley’s tight face and flashing green eyes.

He snapped to attention. “What is it?”

“Go around back,” Haley said. “Someone just killed my bed and ran down the steps.”

Steven pulled his weapon, hollered to the other officer, and took off around the side of her house. The fence to the pasture slowed him a bit, but he caught a glimpse of the dark-clad figure. “Police! Stop!”

The person ignored him and, instead, grabbed ahold of the mane of the nearest horse and vaulted onto his back. Steven raised his gun, but he couldn’t shoot a fleeing suspect in the back, and he hadn’t seen a weapon, even though Haley had indicated he had one. Steven ran after him, even thought about mimicking the guy’s movements and hauling himself onto the horse not three feet away.

But he didn’t ride. He pulled to a stop and watched as the figure got farther and farther away. Frustration nipped at him.

“Did you see him?” Haley’s breathless question spun him around. She stood slightly bent at the waist, her hand pressed against her wounded side.

“I saw him. Where will he jump off?”

“Probably the road. The fence ends about four feet from the two-lane road straight ahead. He can jump the fence and be gone in under a minute.”

Too fast for him to run to the car and drive around there. Steven pulled his phone and punched in his direct access to dispatch. When the woman answered, he gave her his location. “Got a possible suspect on horseback headed to Conrad Hills Road. He’s probably got a vehicle waiting and he’s armed and dangerous.”

He hung up after hearing her assurances that she had units on the way. When he looked back at Haley, her pale, tense features stood out in the darkness. Her home was located far enough way from the road that no streetlights touched the area.

The officer who’d been watching the house approached. “I didn’t see him. I’m sorry.”

Haley shook her head, her hand still pressed to her side. “He came in on foot through the pasture. Some periodic perimeter checks would have been appropriate, but he would have been watching for you and would have timed his attack accordingly. Or just killed you if you got in the way. Don’t blame yourself. It’s not your fault.”

“Feels like it.” He turned and trudged back the way he came.

Haley placed her fingers in her mouth and let out an ear-piercing whistle. The horse that had carried the intruder to the road came back through the trees at a gallop. The other two trotted over and nudged her. She looked at Steven. “I usually have treats when I whistle.” She patted their necks, then turned to look up in the direction of her bedroom. “Should we take a look?”

“Ready when you are.”

“Is she dead?”

The hired assassin shifted the phone to his other ear and watched the police cruisers pull into her driveway. “Yes. I put three bullets into her while she slept.” At least he thought he had. He hadn’t had time to check before the doorbell rang. “Someone came to the door and I had to run, but the target has been terminated.” He felt a vague dissatisfaction with himself that he hadn’t pulled the blankets back before running. But he’d watched her enter the house—

And now she was walking toward the cops who’d arrived. He swore and knew he had to get going. They were already starting to canvass the neighborhood and would be questioning any potential witnesses.

“What is it?”

He’d never had this much trouble taking out a target. “She’s not dead.” How was it possible?

“Thought you said you put three bullets in her.” His employer’s frustration came through the line.

He wanted to hit something. “I thought I did. Obviously not.”

“Then make sure. No one crosses me. Take care of her once and for all.”

“You hired me to do a job. I’m doing it.”

“Well, no, actually you’re not. She’s still alive.”

The assassin drew in a deep breath and knew who his next target might just be. The idiot he was on the phone with had been a huge headache to work for and he was just about done with the whole assignment. “She won’t be alive for long. Be prepared to transfer the rest of the money.”

10:00 PM

After sending the text to Quinn and the others letting them know she was all right and they didn’t need to rush to her aid, Haley studied her bed. The three bullets had ruined her covers, sheets, favorite pillow, and mattress. She crossed her arms and frowned at the feelings roiling inside her. She didn’t like it when her emotions wanted to take over. She’d worked hard at remaining aloof in times of high stress, especially when she had clients who depended on her to keep a cool head.

But this . . .

Quinn, who’d ignored the second text and had bolted to her home as soon as he’d gotten the first, walked into the room, took one look, and shook his head. “Wow. You’re batting a thousand in the enemy department, aren’t you?”

“Apparently.”

“Maddy, Katie, and Olivia were heading this way as well. I managed to convince them that I had you covered and would keep them updated.”

“Thanks.” She ran a hand through her hair. “So it wasn’t Richie?”

“Nope. I had my eyes on him when the call came in on this.”

“One of his goons?”

“That’s what I’m thinking. I mean, he has to know we’re watching him. He probably just put the word out and told someone to get it done.”

Haley nodded even as she frowned. “I don’t know.”

“What don’t you know?”

“The guy in my bedroom was so . . . professional. He didn’t come across to me as a simple gang member. Not that gang members can’t be professional . . .” She paused. She wasn’t making any sense. “This guy . . .” She shook her head. “This feels different. Like he’s done this before many times.”

“Like an assassin?” Steven asked.

She flashed again to the moment she’d watched him pull the trigger, heard the slap of the bullets hitting her bed. “Yes. Exactly like that.”

“It’s possible. Richie definitely has the resources to hire an assassin that fast,” Quinn said.

Haley pursed her lips. “Can you get a look at his financials? See if any money has left his accounts in the last few hours?”

Quinn nodded. “Let me check with someone in gangs. I’ll see what I can do.”

She turned toward Steven. “How’s Duncan? Have you gotten an update on him?”

“The docs seem to think he’s going to pull through. He’s not conscious yet, though.”

“I want to talk to him when he wakes up.”

“Why?”

“Because if it’s not Richie trying to kill me, then I’m willing to concede that you could have a valid point. The attempts could be related to Duncan and my newly discovered family, and I want to know if there’s more to the story.”

The crime scene unit moved in sync around her bedroom. Her French doors boasted print powder, as did her bedside table, even though she didn’t think he’d touched it. She flashed back to the moment he’d fired and, in her mind’s eye, saw the black gloves on his hands. There wouldn’t be any prints.

“How’d your intruder bypass your alarm system?” Steven asked.

She blew out a breath. “I don’t think I armed it when I got home, but he probably jammed it the same way that guy did Maddy’s.” At his quizzical expression, she waved a hand. “Quinn’s wife, Maddy, was attacked and kidnapped from her home a little over a year ago. From what we could tell, the kidnapper had disabled the alarm by jamming the radio frequency. It’s so easy it’s scary, as long as one has the right equipment and the know-how. Which this guy did.” She nodded toward the French door. “My guy probably did the same thing, then simply cut a hole in the glass, flipped the lock off, and let himself right in.” She shivered. She hadn’t heard a thing. She’d never felt vulnerable in her house before. Sure, she knew it wasn’t impenetrable, but it had always been her safe haven, her escape from life and the real world.

This guy had ruined that for her. Anger licked at her in a sudden surge, hot and fiery, and she knew if she could get her hands on him right now, she’d probably do something she’d regret later.

Or not.

She’d have to get rid of the French doors and put a—

No. She wouldn’t. She liked her French doors and she was keeping them—after the crime scene officers removed the pane that had been cut. They’d check for tool marks . . .

She drew in a deep breath. Tonight was not the night for decision making.

“Is there someone who can come stay with you for the rest of the night?” Steven asked.

She shook her head. “I’m not going to be sleeping anyway.”

“You need to.”

“I just woke up. Besides, I slept all day. I’m good for a while.” Especially with the rush of adrenaline still pumping through her veins.

“How’s the wound?”

“Painful. But not unbearable.” So Richie had an alibi. That didn’t mean anything. He could have sent someone to kill her. And yet . . . someone had blown up the bus she was supposed to be on twenty-five years ago and now someone had tried to kill her again. Because Duncan had found her and it was discovered that she was alive? She still thought that was a bit of a stretch. But she wouldn’t discount it. “I’m guessing this was all Richie’s doing and nothing more.”

“Maybe.”

“You don’t think so?”

Before he could say anything else, an officer popped his head in the door. “Haley Callaghan?”

She looked at him. “I’m Haley.”

“There’s a man here who says he’s your grandfather and he needs to talk to you.”

She blinked. “I don’t have a grandfather.” At least not one in the United States.

“He says he just landed a couple of hours ago. He came from Ireland? And he’s driving a sweet Rolls Royce. Well, he and another guy who looks to be almost as old as he is. The other guy was driving.”

“Oh.” Okay then. She ran a hand over her hair and fought to process this new development. “All right. Tell him to wait in the den. I’ll be there shortly.”

“We checked him out. He’s clean.”

“Good,” Haley said even as she tried to push the shock away. “Good. Thank you.”

A hand fell on her shoulder and she turned to see Steven looking at her with concern. “Are you okay?”

“I really have no idea.”