4th of July

Chapter 133

THAT NIGHT, FIREWORKS EXPLODED with incessant booms and rapid-fire cracks over Pillar Point and bloomed in the sky. I put a pillow over my head, but it didn’t block the noise worth a damn.

My hero dog was squashed way under the bed, her back against the wall.

“It’s nothing, Boo. It’ll be over soon. Chin up.”

I fell asleep only to be jolted out of it by the metallic rattle of a key in the lock.

Martha heard it, too, and streaked out of the bedroom toward the front door, barking sharply.

Someone was coming through the door.

It all happened so fast.

I wrapped my hand around my gun, lowered myself from the bed to the rag carpet, and, with my pulse hammering, I crept toward the front room.

I was touching the walls, counting the doorways between my room and the living room, my heart in my throat, when I saw the shadowy figure coming into the house.

I went into a crouch, clasped my piece with both hands in front of me, and yelled out, “Put your fucking hands where I can see them. Do it now.”

There was a shrill scream.

Moonlight pouring in from the open doorway lit my sister’s terrified face. The small child she was carrying in her arms screamed along with her.

I almost screamed myself.

I stood up, took my finger off the trigger, and let my gun hand fall to my side.

“Cat, it’s me. I’m so sorry. That’ll do, Martha! That’ll do.”

“Lindsay?” Cat came toward me, adjusting Meredith in her arms. “Is that gun loaded?”

Brigid, only six, trailed behind my sister. She pressed a floppy stuffed animal over her face and broke into a piercing wail.

My hands were shaking, and the blood was pounding in my ears.

Oh, my God. I could have shot my sister.