Chapter 21

Sustained gunfire nipped at their heels and ripped into nearby tree trunks, shattering the evening calm. Lord, help Ned and Cora hear these shots and call the police, Rafter prayed as he and Annie fled the barrage.

Adrenaline surged through Rafter as he ran, fueling his body with energy and strength. He was sure Annie felt the identical flow of adrenal gland hormone pumping through her own body.

Earlier in the evening while trapped in the attic he’d felt a strange longing for an adrenaline rush. He felt stupid now wishing for peril. He’d give anything now for a quiet evening of star gazing on the gallery with Annie, or a night spent reading a book.

But the stench of burnt cordite wafting in the air signaled this nightmarish evening was anything but ordinary and dull. Death could easily visit them tonight. Life already fragile and fleeting could end prematurely if events continued their downward spiral.

Low-hanging tree branches whipped at their skin. They ignored the thrashing and ran even faster. The gunshots had stopped. But Rafter could hear their pursuers running close behind, could hear their footfalls and heavy breathing.

The field topography changed abruptly. Trees thinned out. And then he and Annie reached their backyard. The gazebo loomed. For some reason Rafter ran toward the shelter. Annie ran toward it as well.

Perhaps the gazebo was as good a place as any to make their final stand. Whether it would provide a refuge or not, they bailed over the side, landing on the floor in heaps.

Rafter disentangled himself and rose to a knee, reached over his shoulder with his right hand and grabbed an arrow out of his quiver. He nocked the arrow.

A gunshot rang out. A bullet penetrated the wall in front of them and ripped through the wall behind them. They must be using ammo with full metal jackets, Rafter thought. Whereas hollow point ammo is designed to stop upon penetration and break apart and cause havoc in the body, full metal jacket ammo doesn’t break up and can pass through multiple objects or people.

“You did a fine job building this gazebo, Jon. But it’s not bulletproof,” Annie said.

“I built it for weddings, not fending off psychotic treasure hunters,” Rafter grumbled. He peeked over the wall, tried to locate their gun toting foes. But another shot rang out, and a bullet splintered the wood near his face. He ducked down.

He hadn’t seen the shooter but he’d seen a muzzle flash, bright orange against the dark night. The muzzle flash had been twenty to twenty-five yards away at approximately the two o’clock position from where he and Annie crouched.

“You think they’re in range for me to try out the derringer?” Annie asked him.

Rafter shook his head. “You’ll know it when they’re close enough.”

“Okay, but when you’ve loosed all your arrows I’m firing it.”

Rafter gripped the longbow with his left hand. Although he’d killed several deer with a compound bow over the past few years, he normally didn’t practice archery at all except for a month or two prior to deer hunting season. He’d likely be rusty and inaccurate with his compound bow right now, and he’d never even shot a longbow before.

The antique longbow was so much different than his modern compound bow. Six feet long and constructed from a yew tree, the weapon exemplified simplicity. No sight, no arrow shelf, no cables or cams or release to aid him, just a string and a bow—archery stripped down to its purest form.

Rafter steeled his courage. He had to act now or they’d be trapped. He took a deep breath and held it in, said a quick silent prayer. And then as he stood up he drew back the string on the longbow to his anchor point just below his ear.

Rafter looked in the same vicinity where he saw the muzzle flash just seconds ago. He spotted a patch of white clothing, and tilted his head until his eye could look down the arrow shaft. He aimed a little high, just above the patch of white to allow for the arrow drop.

Rafter loosed the arrow. An anguished cry pierced the darkness a moment later, signifying his shot had struck flesh. Rafter felt a small pang of guilt. But it wasn’t enough guilt to keep him from reaching into his quiver for the last arrow.

“Drop the bow!”

Rafter whirled around and saw Arcadias holding a gun to Annie’s head.

“Drop the bow or kiss your lovely wife goodbye.”

Rafter released his grip on the longbow. It dropped and rattled against the gazebo floor.

“How bad off is she?” Arcadias called out. “I can hear her moaning.”

“There’s an arrow sticking through Colette’s left arm just below her shoulder,” Damien answered.

Arcadias glared at Rafter. “Well, from here on out we’ll have to keep a closer eye on you two. Wherever we go…you’ll go too.”

Chapter 22

Arcadias looked at Jon and Annie and pointed at the sofa with his Glock. “Sit there where we can keep an eye on you,” he commanded.

“I have some plastic cable ties in my tool bucket. I can tie up their hands,” Damien offered. He held Colette’s uninjured arm and helped her walk into the foyer and over to a chair. She moaned and sat down stiffly, the arrow firmly stuck in her arm.

Arcadias nodded. “Yes, they definitely need to be tied up.”

“Colette needs medical attention. She’s in danger of going into shock,” Rafter said.

“She’ll be fine. We’re not calling an ambulance, if that’s what you’re getting at,” Arcadias replied.

“Her skin looks gray and clammy. She needs to lie down, and her wound needs treated.”

Arcadias’ ash-colored eyes flared. “We’ll get to her. But first things first, Jon, you need to understand the pecking order around here. I give the orders because I am in charge. You and Annie are basically my subjects. Whatever I ask you to do I expect you to do immediately and without complaint.”

“You’re never going to get away with this, Arcadias. Police will be on the scene momentarily,” Annie said.

Arcadias turned toward her. “We took your phones. You couldn’t have called them.”

“We didn’t have to.” Annie looked over at Damien and Colette. “Bonnie and Clyde here shot so many rounds at us that our neighbors would’ve called the police for us.”

Before Arcadias could respond, the doorbell rang. All heads turned toward the door.

“That’s probably the police now,” Annie continued.

“Should we answer the door?” Iris asked.

Arcadias walked over to a window and looked out. “I don’t see any police cruisers.” He turned and looked at Rafter. “Are you expecting company?”

Rafter shook his head.

“Iris, go see who it is. But don’t let them in,” Arcadias said.

Iris crept toward the door and looked through the peephole. “It’s an old man,” she said softly. “What do I do?”

“Talk to him and see what he wants, but don’t let him in.”

Iris unlocked the door and pulled it a quarter of the way open. The old man craned his head and tried to look around her. She stepped to the side and blocked his view. “Can I help you, sir?”

“I’m here to talk to Jon Rafter.”

“May I ask your name, please?”

“I’m Ned Hoxley. I’m Jon’s neighbor.”

“I think Mr. Rafter stepped out for a bit. I’ll tell him you came by.”

“His car is still here. So is his old pickup truck.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hoxley, but you’ll have to come back some other ...”

Ned Hoxley shouldered his way past Iris and stepped into the house. “Jon? Annie? Rosie is injured. I think she may have been shot. She came by the house tonight, dripping blood,” Hoxley said as he walked into the parlor. He stopped in his tracks when he saw Arcadias with his drawn side arm trained on Jon and Annie.