She jerked her head and they retreated to the opposite corner of the barn, where she laid out her plan in a low voice. He didn’t like her idea because he always wanted to be the first one through the door, but he didn’t argue. They needed a clean shot at Rhys without Adam being in the middle.
She held up two fingers. “Give me two minutes.”
“I won’t let him kill Adam,” Matt whispered back.
The cold stabbed her lungs as she raced back to the front of the house. On the way, she used her radio and earpiece to inform dispatch—and the deputies on the way—that they were going in. Then she dug into her pocket for Adam’s key. Her fingers were numb with cold, and she fumbled, almost dropping it. She removed her gloves and tried again. Moving slowly, she inserted the key and turned it. The click of the dead bolt sounded as loud as a gunshot. She could only hope the wind covered the noise.
Her heart jackhammered. Her pulse began to echo in her ears. To prevent adrenaline-induced tunnel vision, she inhaled deeply and held her breath for a minute, forcing her heart rate to slow. She returned her keys to her pocket and drew her gun. Then she turned the knob, eased the door open, and stepped into the darkness.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Matt checked his watch and counted down the final seconds. He used his phone to watch Rhys. On the screen, he could see Rhys digging at the roll of plastic wrap with his thumb. He lifted the edge, then unwound about a foot of wrap and approached Adam.
He pictured Bree going in the front door of the barn. Would Rhys hear her?
Adam pulled his head back and strained against his binds. The chair rocked as he thrashed. Before Matt could react, Rhys pulled out a stun gun and gave Adam a jolt. Adam seized up as the current rushed through his body, disabling him. A sick sensation filled Matt. Then anger flooded in.
Fuck this.
He shoved his phone into his pocket, stood, and turned, his rifle pressed into his shoulder. Rhys’s back was facing him, but Matt still didn’t have a clear shot at him.
As Rhys extended the sheet of plastic, Matt turned the rifle and used the butt to smash the window. Glass shattered. Broken pieces rained into Adam’s studio.
Farah screamed, the high-pitched wail muffled by the gag.
Still behind Adam, Rhys whirled, dropping the plastic wrap and snatching his pistol from the table.
Without a clear shot, Matt couldn’t take out Rhys through the window. There was no way around it. He had to go in—and he had to do it fast, or he’d be a target.
He swept the rifle stock across the bottom of the window frame, clearing the largest shards. He grabbed the sill with gloved hands, pulling himself over. His chest and belly slid across the window, protected from the sharp points of glass by his vest. He ignored a quick slash of pain across his thigh. A gunshot ripped through the studio. A bullet struck the windowsill a few inches from Matt’s head. Then he was through the opening and dropping to the floor. He landed on a carpet of glass shards and other objects that littered the floor. A tube of paint sat next to his face. A stick under his elbow felt like a paintbrush. Another shot rang out. The bullet struck the wall, sending bits of wallboard flying. He rolled, coming to a stop on his belly, with the rifle aimed at Rhys. He switched on the flashlight mounted on the long gun.
Rhys was behind Adam, stooping to better use him as a shield. Rhys shifted his aim from Matt to press the muzzle against Adam’s temple. “I’ll shoot him.”
“You won’t get away.” Matt held the rifle steady, scanning Rhys from his feet to his head, looking for any target, but Rhys was smart enough to keep his entire body behind Adam’s.
“You are not in control!” Rhys shouted. “I am in charge. I say what happens.”
A figure moved behind Rhys. Bree appeared, her gun aimed at Rhys. Farah was in the way. Bree stepped around the restrained woman, putting herself in position for a shot. Something snapped under her boot. Rhys spun and ducked just as Bree fired. Her shot hit the wall where his head had been a fraction of a second before. He dived for the floor.
Matt’s heart jackhammered as he squeezed off a shot. Bree fired again as well. Rhys grunted. She must have hit him.
“Fuck you!” Rhys yelled as he fired at Matt, then turned and shot in Bree’s direction. He was moving, not aiming, and both shots went wide. Bullets pinged off the walls.
Matt lined up his rifle again. Rhys was working hard to keep either Adam or Farah in front of him, but Bree was moving, trying to get clear. Rhys kept rolling. He was headed for the broken window, toward the fastest escape. He lurched to his feet. Then his shoes slipped on broken glass and debris. His arms pinwheeled as he careened across the floor—right into the snake tank.
The tank toppled. The snake’s heavy body thudded on the glass. The lid popped off. Both man and snake came flying at Matt. He scuttled backward like a panicked crab to get out of the way. He lost sight of the snake. Matt heard Bree fire again. The shot echoed in the small space. Rhys scrambled away. He cursed. Had Bree hit him with a second bullet?
Where was the snake? Matt felt the sting in his calf.
Fuck.
Snakebite.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Bree extended her gun, sweeping her aim across the debris on the floor. Where the fuck was the snake? Something moved through a shiny patch of glass. A long green-brown body slithered faster than anything without legs should be able to move. Bree pulled the trigger three times in rapid succession. The snake’s body jerked as the bullets hit it. She didn’t shift her aim until she was sure it was dead.
Lungs heaving, Bree pivoted back to the men just in time to see Rhys go out the broken window.
“Did you kill it?” Matt was dragging himself toward Adam.
“Oh, yes,” Bree said.
He nodded. His pant leg was rolled up to his knee. A single puncture wound marred his calf.
“It bit you?” A wave of cold terror swept through Bree. She used her radio to call for an ambulance. “Officer down. Rattlesnake bite.” She released the button on the mic. “Any other injuries?”
“No.” But he was pale and shivering. Blood stained the thigh of his khaki pants. He pulled out his knife and freed Adam’s hands. Adam ripped off the duct tape and took the knife from Matt.
She searched her memory for the information the animal control officer had given her back in Julius’s house. “Lie still so the venom doesn’t spread. Bites aren’t usually fatal if you get prompt medical care. You’ll be OK.” But the area around the bite was already beginning to redden and swell.
Was she trying to convince him or herself?
“Sheriff?” dispatch said on the radio. “Where’s the rattlesnake?”
“Dead.” Bree glanced back at it. “In pieces, actually.”
“Please text a photo of the snake’s head and body to Dr. Young at the ER.” The dispatcher gave her a number.
“I’ll do it.” Matt pulled out his phone.
Bree pointed at him. “You don’t move.” She ran to the snake, took a photo, and sent it to the ER doc.
Cold air poured through the broken window. Farah moaned, likely in shock.
“Can you see to Farah?” she called to Adam.
“I’m on it.” Adam freed his legs, then reached behind him and severed a plastic tie holding his jeans to the chair. Adam went to Farah. He was shaky but moving with determination as he freed her. She fell sideways to the floor, sobbing.