They remained quiet as they stood together under the spray, then took turns drying one another off.
“So this was it?” Her voice was steady and he admired how pragmatic she was. He felt like he’d been kicked in the gut multiple times, except the memory of their lovemaking made it impossible to feel much of anything besides completely content.
“Bella, I—”
Suddenly, the sound of gunfire rang through the night, coming from the other side of the house wall. He pushed her down onto the floor, covering her with his body. He listened, but silence descended. Reaching up to the sink while still protecting Bella, he grabbed his phone and called Spencer.
“Inside the house, we’re under fire. Where’s MVPD?”
“We’re on it, Holden. Take cover until I find out where your patrol is.” Spencer’s frustration bit through his words.
He left the phone on speaker and placed it on the sink, next to his weapon, which he grabbed and flipped the safety off. “We’re in the guest bathroom, northern side of the house. I’ve got my weapon and we’re going to stay put until you tell me it’s clear.”
“We have to get dressed.” Bella’s voice was low, meant for him.
“Quick, let’s get clothes from the bedroom.” He’d left a bag in the guest room and knew she had her workout and out-of-season clothes in there. The bedroom was between them and the center of the house, where they’d have the most protection from bullets. “I think the MVPD patrol was disabled. There’s no other way a shooter got past them.”
They were dressed in thirty seconds flat, and as he zipped his cargo shorts and Bella tugged on bicycle shorts, gunfire again rang out.
Bella didn’t need him to push her down this time—she was already flat on the floor, between the bed and closet. He’d been in only one other live shooting and he’d relied on what he’d learned in Quantico at the FBI Academy. “Stay down, and let’s get into the center of the house.”
“Do you think it’s the killer?” Bella spoke as she shimmied on her belly down the hallway.
“Don’t go any farther. Stay between the two walls.” He sat, his back against the wall, weapon loaded and aimed at the ceiling until needed.
Bella copied his posture, and he again was impressed with her composure under duress.
“What do you think is going on?”
“I don’t know.” Spencer hadn’t, either, which was a red flag.
“What if—” She was cut off by a loud, splintering sound. “The kitchen door!”
“Stay here.” He ran up to the edge of the wall, weapon first, and peered around the boundary. It was dark and he was unable to see anything but a large shadow of a person on the other side, kicking in the door. The motion-detector light had been shot out, no doubt.
“Stop or I’ll shoot!”
A barrage of bullets through the shattered door window was the only reply. Holden’s only recourse was to fire back. As he held his hands steady, he got off six, seven shots, waited for the attacker to either drop or flee.
Rapid footsteps faded into silence, and he waited. The front door was one hundred and eighty degrees behind him, so he positioned himself to be able to answer fire from either entrance.
Sirens sounded in the distance, the wails soft but persistent. He had at least five more minutes before the house would be surrounded by responding MVPD. What had happened to the patrol unit in front of the house, and its officers, remained unknown but experience screamed at him that the killer had owned up to his role tonight.
“Holden!” Bella’s scream had him turning to the left, looking down the hallway. She was scrambling to her feet, trying to run to him, as a figure similar to the one he’d seen in the staff room stood at the end of the hallway, weapon aimed at Bella, who was now behind Holden.
“Stop or I’ll shoot!” Holden kept his weapon aimed at the killer. The intruder seemed to consider his options before he leaped sideways and disappeared into the master bedroom. Holden shoved Bella back, into the kitchen. He saw she held her handgun, which he’d asked her to keep by her side when at home. “Keep your weapon out—watch both doors.”
He was down the hall and cleared into the bedroom, where all he found was the window wide open, gauzy drapes hanging both in and out of it, billowing into the night. Running to the open window he knew what he’d find—nothing. As he peered out, he spotted a MVPD officer in tactical gear as they rounded the corner of the house.
“He took off into the desert!” Holden yelled, pointed at the heavy brush that made it easy for the killer to disappear. The officer nodded and Holden heard mumbles through their helmet as the officer spoke into his or her microphone. The officer ran to the back of the property, followed by another, who’d entered the backyard. Bella’s garden backed up to the desert and the perfect escape for a criminal who knew their way around the southeastern Arizona scrub.
Holden swore, the words inaudible to his own ears as the sirens roared and cruisers screeched to a halt, surrounding Bella’s house. The killer had eluded him once more.
Bella.
Running out into the hall he let out a huge breath when he saw her standing in the apex of the entryways and short hallway, her defiant posture underscoring what attracted him to her in the first place. Not her beauty, nor her sensuality, but her strength.
Bella was the strongest woman he’d ever met, and that was a big deal, as until now he’d always counted Grandma St. Clair as the toughest.