Otherwise why was she so happy and excited in the middle of a black pit?
She heard something again. Was it footsteps? The man carrying all those gold bars? But she realized in that instant that it wasn’t a man’s footsteps, it sounded indistinct, too hollow for that. She jerked awake, shot straight up in bed, and looked toward the window. All she saw was a veil of white snow falling thick and straight down. She looked closely at it.
The house was cool, but not uncomfortably so. She was wearing a pair of Rafer’s socks, his donation to her, nice thick wool socks, so she didn’t feel the cold of the oak planks beneath her feet as she walked to the window and looked out, thinking about the dream. She heard a scratching sound coming from below the window. She tried to look down but couldn’t get a good angle. Curious, she opened the window and leaned out. Straight below her window she saw two men hunkering down over something, both of them swathed in heavy coats over jeans tucked into big army boots. Ski caps covered their heads, heavy gloves on their hands. They were nearly white with snow. She must have made a noise because one of them suddenly looked up to see her leaning out.
He said something, then moved so fast she barely managed to jerk back into the bedroom before a bullet splintered wood not six inches from her head.
Another two, then three rounds came through the window. It was a silenced pistol, the muffled sound quite distinctive.
She looked around for her gun, but didn’t see it. Where was her gun? She always had her gun nearby. Another bullet shattered what was left of the window. She ran to the bedroom door, flung it open, and yelled, “Sheriff!”
He was out of his bedroom at the end of the hall in seconds, his Beretta in his right hand, his left hand jerking up the zipper in his jeans.
“What is it? You all right?”
“Two men, on the ground outside my window with a ladder. I heard them and when I looked down, one of them fired four, five rounds up at me.”
Dix was past her in a moment, racing to the open window. He kept out of the line of fire, eased himself to the corner of the window, looked down. The men weren’t there now, no one was there, but there were lots of footprints in the snow, and a ladder lay on its side.
As he pulled the window down carefully in the shattered frame, yanked the curtains closed, he said, “I want you to stay right behind me, Madonna. Rob, Rafe, both of you, get back in your room and lock the door. Now!”
They obeyed him instantly.
Dix raced to his bedroom, picked up his cell from its charger, and called his night dispatcher. “Curtis, two men are at my house, fired at Madonna. Round up everybody you can find and get them out here, fast. These guys are dangerous. Tell everyone to be real careful.”
Dix hooked his cell on his belt, yanked on the rest of his clothes. While he was pulling on his boots, she told him what she could. He nodded. “Good. The first car will be here within four minutes. I want you to stay right here, don’t even think of leaving this room, you got that?”
“But I—Give me a gun, Sheriff, I know how to use one.”
CHAPTER 8
“FORGET ABOUT IT, Madonna. Just do as I say and get down over there behind the dresser.”
She knew way deep that crouching beside a dresser for protection wasn’t something she would do or anyone would ask her to do, but her head was pounding, and images of her dreams, of the man coming toward her in the blackness, were still scoring through her. She fell to her knees and pressed her palms against her head.
Downstairs, Dix lifted the edge of the living room curtain and looked outside. It looked like an Impressionistic postcard out there, pure white snow cascading down, blurring what was real, softening everything, but still menacing because it was hiding the men who didn’t want to be seen. He saw nothing moving, but knew it would be foolhardy to venture outside and let one of those clowns pick him off. Dix knew the boys would do exactly what he’d told them to, but he didn’t know about her, about Madonna. One minute later he heard sirens, then saw lights flashing through the snow. He was in his coat and gloves by the time five cop cars pulled up along his street almost at the same time and overflowed his driveway.
“Everyone stay down!” he shouted, and then slowly, his Beretta sweeping the area, he walked out onto the front porch. He heard Brewster yapping hysterically and knew he’d pee, no way around it. Penny shouted, “Sheriff, any idea where they are?”
He shook his head, then quickly told the deputies what had happened. “You’re looking for two men. Listen to me now. They’re armed and they’ve already shot to kill, so be very careful. We can follow their footprints in the snow until they reach the woods. If we lose them in the trees, we’ll split up. I’m hoping we’ll find them before they get out of the woods. Let’s hurry before the tracks fill in with snow.”
His deputies fanned out around the footprints where the ladder lay. They headed straight for the woods, still easily visible, but not for long in the snowfall.
“They were running at a good clip, Sheriff,” Penny said. She and Dix waved all the deputies forward at a dead run into the woods.
They met up with B.B. and Claus, already in the trees, and the four of them followed what was left of the men’s tracks. Instead of snow tracks, they soon saw small clumps of snow that had fallen off the men’s boots, and lots of broken and partially naked tree branches the men had run into in their hurry to escape. It took time, with their four flashlights trained, as the obvious signs of passage faded away. The trail passed through to the western edge of the woods, then back in for about twenty more feet, then out again. “Listen,” Dix said.
They heard an engine fire up, and broke into a run. They cleared a stand of oak trees to see a dark truck fishtailing its way onto Wolf Trap Road, one road over from Dix’s house. Snow and gravel fantailed, spraying a huge arc. They were too far away, the snow too thick, to make out the license plate.
“It’s a Tacoma,” Penny said. “Tommy’s got one. I’ve washed that sucker more times than I can count. It
’s black, or really dark blue.”
Dix spoke quickly on his cell, then stuffed it back in his jeans pocket. “Emory will be here in a minute with a cruiser. We’re going after that damned truck. B.B., you head back to the house and post a few of us there. You have enough cruisers to set up a perimeter. These guys are playing for keeps. Hey, keep my boys safe.”
In under three minutes, Dix, Penny, Claus, and Emory were piled into Emory’s squad car, Dix driving. Penny was leaning out the passenger-side window, trying to make out the truck’s tire tracks.
“Straight down Wolf Trap Road, Sheriff,” she yelled. “These tracks are a giveaway.”
They skidded and slid from one side of the road to the other because they were moving so fast, but Dix managed for the most part to keep them on the pavement. They came up to Lone Tree Road.
“Left, Sheriff!”
He spun into the turn, nearly into a ditch. Dix, cursing a blue streak, managed to get the cruiser heading down the road again.
Dix heard Claus say over and over in the backseat, “We’re gonna get ’em and skin ’em and fry their livers—”