Page 79 of Cowboy Elite 2: Mike

Sheriff Tucker stepped out of the shadows, service weapon trained and steady. "Sheriff's office. Drop the weapon. Now."

The man hesitated. Mike used the moment to kick his legs out from under him, and Tucker was on him in seconds, zip ties securing wrists behind back.

"Two down," Tucker said into his radio. "Main house secured."

Lyle's voice came back. "Three more in custody on east perimeter. Kenny dropped one with a warning shot that clipped his body armor. Man decided surrender was preferable to a second try."

"That's six," Mike said. "Heat signatures showed four approaching vectors. Where's?—"

A scream split the night. Not Liv. Not Charlotte.

Heather.

Mike and Tucker were moving before the echo faded, weapons drawn, heading for the sound.

They found Heather in the kitchen, shotgun raised, facing off against a man in black tactical gear who had his hands raised in surrender.

"He came in through the mudroom," Heather said, voice shaking with adrenaline. "I introduced him to the business end of Grandma's Remington. He decided to be cooperative."

"Heather—" Mike started, already checking her for injuries, hands efficient and gentle. Old habits. "You hit?"

"Just my pride. Bastard got past me through the mudroom while I was watching the front." She finally lowered the shotgun, hands shaking now that adrenaline was fading. "I should've checked?—"

"You should have been in the safe room. Lyle’s going to have a fit." Mike squeezed her shoulder. "Where's Liv and Charlotte?"

"Still in the safe room. Locked down tight."

"Any sign of Russo?"

The zip-tied man on the floor spoke up. "Already inside. Been in position since this afternoon."

Mike's blood ran cold. "Where?"

"He was already inside before we breached. Came in earlier, during your bake sale. Hid in the attic access near the west bedroom." The man's voice was flat, professional, gloating just a bit. "Said he had unfinished business."

"Hell on fire." Mike was already moving. "He's been in the house for hours."

Liv heard the voice before she saw him.

"Olivia Langford." Calm. Almost tired. "We need to talk."

The safe room door hadn't opened. The lock was still secure. But the voice came from behind her.

When she turned, Damian Russo was standing in the corner of the safe room, emerging from behind the deep pantry shelving like something from a nightmare.

My God. He’d been in here with them the whole time.

He was smaller than she'd remembered. Neat suit, graying hair, eyes that looked more weary than cruel. He could've been anyone's grandfather, a banker, a professor.

Not a murderer.

But she'd seen what those civilized hands had done. The gun held steady. The pull of a trigger without hesitation. A silencer muffling the noise.

Charlotte pressed against Liv's back, silent and terrified.

Liv raised her weapon. "Don't move."

"I'm not armed." Russo showed his hands, empty. "I came to talk. That's all."