“Hi, Jake. This is Chris,” the voice said. “I’ve finished up at the naval base and I’m on my way over. Sorry about running late.”
“Not a problem,” Harrison replied. He glanced at his watch. Angie was about to start cooking. “What are your dinner plans?”
Angie must have heard him answer his phone and had joined him in the living room. When he asked Christine about dinner plans, Angie caught his attention, mouthing the word no as she waved him off with her arms.
“Just a second,” Harrison said before Christine replied.
After he put the call on mute, Angie spoke first. “I thought she was just bringing some paperwork for you to sign.”
“She’s running late, and it’s almost dinnertime. She could join us.”
Angie frowned. “We’ve only got two sirloin steaks in the fridge.”
“I could run out and pick up another one.”
Angie had her hands on her hips, unmoved by his offer.
“She’s my boss,” Harrison said. “Plus, the time together will help you realize that we’re just friends now, nothing more.”
Angie hesitated a moment, then acquiesced. “All right. But pick up better steaks. New York Strip. Make it filet mignon. And a bottle of wine. Whatever kind she likes best.”
He took the phone off mute. “Hey, Chris. We’d like you to join us for dinner if you have time.”
There was a short silence on the line before she replied, “Thanks for the invitation, and I accept. I’ll arrive a few minutes later, though. I’ll need to stop somewhere to pick up food for my protective agents.”
“Sounds good,” Harrison replied. “See you in a bit.”
Harrison hung up as he grabbed his car keys from the foyer table.
“I should be back in thirty minutes.”
Twilight was transitioning to dusk, the sky blanketed by dark gray clouds threatening to open up at any moment, as Lonnie Mixell checked the GPS map instructions on his cell phone. His eyes returned to the road, searching for Roundup Lane on the right, spotting the sign as a car pulled out from the road, turning onto the street toward him. The car matched the make and model of Harrison’s vehicle, and it took only a few seconds to verify Harrison was the driver. Mixell covered his face as best he could, scratching his forehead as Harrison drove by.
Mixell turned onto Roundup Lane, then traveled down the winding road, pulling off onto a dirt path in the heavily forested area, where he parked the car and assessed the situation. The retribution he had in mind required Harrison at home with his wife. However, it was likely that Jake was running an errand and would be back soon, making Mixell’s entry into his home in the interim that much easier. When Harrison returned, he’d be waiting for him.
For tonight’s endeavor, Mixell had a pistol in a shoulder holster beneath his gray windbreaker, plus a six-inch-long stainless steel knife in a sheath strapped to his belt. He left the car and worked his way through the brush toward Harrison’s home, stopping at the edge of the vegetation bordering Harrison’s yard. There was only about twenty or so feet of open space to this side of the house.
He moved to the back for a quick reconnaissance, spotting a single back door to the house and an old barn in the distance. Everything was as he expected. He returned to the front of the house and was about to put his plan into motion when he spotted a black SUV heading down Roundup Lane, turning into the driveway to Harrison’s home.
Mixell hid in the brush as the SUV stopped near the walkway to the house. Christine O’Connor emerged from the back seat, joined by a protective agent who stepped from the front passenger side. After accompanying the director to the front door, the agent returned to the vehicle, where he and the driver pulled out burgers and fries from a takeout bag.
Christine’s unexpected arrival had thrown a wrench into Mixell’s plan; in particular, the unplanned presence of two armed protective agents, sitting in a vehicle behind what was most likely bullet-resistant glass. However, Mixell had been traveling disguised as a hunter in case he was stopped by law enforcement for some reason, who might note his assortment of weapons. In the trunk of his car was a .30–06 rifle, along with a selection of rounds for just about every contingency. Several armor-piercing bullets should do the trick.
He returned to his car and retrieved the rifle and desired rounds, slowing on his return as he neared the edge of the vegetation bordering Harrison’s yard. He crept closer until he had a clear view of both protective agents, each finishing his meal. He reviewed the revised plan in his mind: twenty feet to the SUV, plus another twenty to the front door. About thirteen yards. It would take only a few seconds to gain entry into Harrison’s home.
As he stood hidden a few feet into the brush, he slowly placed the rifle against his shoulder, taking aim at the nearest protective agent. He pulled the trigger, taking a split second to verify the round had penetrated the vehicle’s glass window. The first agent slumped in his seat as Mixell shifted his aim to the second man and squeezed the trigger again, producing the same result.
Mixell dropped the rifle and sprinted past the vehicle toward the front door as he pulled out his pistol. He had no idea if the two women inside had heard the rifle shots or, even if they had, realized what was going on, but he wasn’t taking any chances. Speed was of the essence, ensuring neither woman could call for help before he gained control.
When he reached the front door, he fired two bullets into the doorframe near the latch, then kicked the door open, splintering the frame in the process. He surged inside, spotting Angie and Christine emerging from the kitchen to find out what was going on. He leveled his pistol at the two women.
“Stay right where you are.”
Mixell heard footsteps on the stairs and looked up to spot Harrison’s daughter halfway down, freezing when she saw the armed stranger in her house.
He swung his pistol toward Maddy as Angie cried out, pleading with Mixell to spare her.
“Come down and join your mother,” he said.
Angie reiterated Mixell’s direction, and the girl quickly descended the remaining steps, joining the two women. Angie pulled her daughter behind her.
Mixell pulled the knife from its sheath.
75
SILVERDALE, WASHINGTON
It was dark by the time Harrison returned from the store. As he pulled up beside Christine’s SUV, he spotted the two protective agents slumped in their seats, their heads and headrests splattered with blood, two bullet holes in the windshield. His hand instinctively went for his weapon, but he carried none tonight. He stepped from his car and moved quickly toward the SUV, pulling on the driver’s side door handle. The door opened, and Harrison retrieved the agent’s pistol, which he verified had a full magazine of bullets, with one round chambered.
Staying close against the house, he moved toward the front door, stopping when he reached the edge of the dining room window. Through the glass, he spotted Angie and Christine sitting at the dining room table across from each other. Angie sat frozen with a terrified look on her face, her eyes filled with tears. Christine was seated with her back to Harrison, but he could see the tension in her shoulders. His pulse quickened when he saw Maddy sitting in Mixell’s lap at one end of the table. One of Mixell’s arms was wrapped around her waist while his right hand wielded a knife, resting on her shoulder. Maddy was trembling in fear, her eyes focused on a board game on the table before her.
Mixell kept Maddy’s head between him and Harrison, so Harrison couldn’t get a clear shot; he’d have to enter the house first. He dropped below the window and moved to the front door. It was closed, but the doorframe had been shattered. He pushed the door open as gently as possible, but it made a scraping sound as it freed itself from the frame.