Retriever Ransom

Chapter Nineteen

I didn’t reach the gun first, but neither did Denise.

Pringle stood on the side table, clutching the gun to his chest as if it were a precious child. Given his size, the simple handgun looked more like a powerful rifle.

“Wheee, look at me! I’m the terminator!” He flipped the semi-automatic around and pointed it toward the fireplace. “I’ll be back, baby! Hasta la pasta!”

My heart thudded behind my ribcage. I didn’t want Denise to have a gun, but it was every bit as dangerous in Pringle’s paws. “Put the gun down,” I pleaded, too afraid to ask him to hand it to me directly.

“What do you mean put it down? I just got it! This is awesome! Seriously, how cool do I look right now?” He squinted one eye shut and brought his furry fingers to the trigger and—

The bullet flew right for the stone fireplace, tore through the flames, and then ricocheted back into the cabin.

“Duck!” I shouted, throwing myself to the floor as the bullet shattered another of the windows and disappeared into the snowy wilderness outside.

Denise gasped for air loudly and repeatedly. If I hadn’t heard the bullet exit through the window, I’d have worried she’d been hit. Instead, she seemed to be having a panic attack.

Unlike my captor, I’d been in dangerous scrapes plenty of times before—never with an armed rodent, but still.

I pushed myself to my feet, ignoring the pain in my hands and wrists.

Pringle was staring down the barrel of his gun as if a peek inside would explain how the firing mechanism had just been triggered. If I tried to take it from him, it would probably go off again. I had to talk us out of this one, but first there was something else I needed.

In the rush for the handgun, Denise had forgotten her other asset—a working cell phone. I yanked it off the table and punched in a call to emergency services.

“What are you doing?” Denise cried. “No!”

“What’s your emergency?” the operator on the other end of the line asked, but before I could answer, the gun fired a second time.

Denise screamed, and I spun myself around, expecting to find a dead woman, a dead raccoon, or both.

What I found truly surprised me. The golden retriever had pounced on Pringle, knocking the gun from the raccoon’s furry, little hands. “Guns are for hunting. Not for hurting,” he warned with a growl that bared his teeth.

I’d never seen a retriever look quite so menacing. Apparently it took a lot to send him into attack dog mode—or more precisely a rogue raccoon with a gun.

Marco snarled, the long sandy hair on his back rising at the hackles.

Denise continued to hyperventilate and cry.

Pringle chittered from his place beneath the much larger dog’s paws. “You’re not going to kill me. Are you? Look, I’m one of the good guys. You can tell by my charming smile. See.” He raised his gums and showed his teeth, which the dog took as a threat.

Marco reared back, then lunged for Pringle’s throat. No!

CRASH!

Another furry figure crashed through the window. This time it was Cujo, and he did not look happy.

“So it was your pee I smelled,” he told the golden. “I should have known you were a no-good useless—“

“Quiet!” Marco snapped. “I’m the first dog of Glendale, and I will not be talked to that way!”

“Unhand that raccoon. He’s not a villain. He’s a hero!”

“Then why does he have a gun?”

“It’s true. He was saving me! She’s the one who was going to kill me!” I pointed at Denise, who sat rocking in the corner looking completely unthreatening.

“Her?” Marco whined. “But she gave me treats. Two treats! How can she be bad?”

“Oh, my fellow dog, you have much to learn about humans and their motives,” Cujo said with a shake of his head. “Come. Let’s share a pee outside, and I’ll fill you in.”

The dogs turned to leave, and I made a beeline for the gun. Yes, this time I reached it first. Mostly because no one else had attempted to collect it.

Pringle lay on the floor, too shocked to move. From what I could tell, Marco hadn’t hurt him yet. Still, Pringle had never been outmaneuvered before. His pride was now hurt more than anything else.

I emptied the magazine, dropping the remaining bullets to the floor so no more dangerous mishaps could happen.

“Can I have that back?” Pringle asked, slowly bringing himself to a seated position.

“I’ll buy you a Nerf gun when we get home. Much safer, and then you can use the soft ammo to play target practice with Octo-Cat.” My cat was going to kill me, but at least the Thompsons hadn’t managed to yet.

I ambled toward the door and opened it wide in case the dogs decided to come back inside. No need to force them through the broken glass when there was a perfectly good door on hand.

Although I’d complained about the bitter cold that same morning, now I sucked in the fresh air with a happy sigh. It felt good to be alive.

But we weren’t out of the woods yet. Mr. Thompson could still come back at any time, and…

Speaking of woods, three people ran out from them and into the open field, Nan among them.

I ran outside, crying with relief.

When I flung my arms around her, Paisley yipped, “Mommy! I’m here, too!”

I laughed when I noticed her in the carrier on Nan’s chest and gave her a nice scratch between those giant ears of hers.

The other two people were Officer Bouchard and one of the newer cops I didn’t yet know by name.

Bouchard came over and placed a heavy hand on my shoulder. “We heard shots fired. Are you okay?”

I nodded so vigorously, my hair fell into my face. “Yes. Yes. I’m okay. But…” I let my words fall away as I motioned toward the cabin.

Both policemen drew their guns and headed inside.

Nan was quick to follow, dragging me along.

We were slowed by my injuries, but arrived just moments after the officers. Already, they had Denise Thompson in handcuffs and were pulling her onto her feet.

“Are you the one who took my granddaughter?” Nan asked, marching straight up to her.

“Yes, but I—“

Nan came in close, readying a punch, but before she could make contact, Denise cried out in pain.

“Ouch! It hurts so bad!”

Nan turned to me in confusion, which is when I noticed Paisley, a bit of blood lining her muzzle.

“That little rat bit me in the boob!” Denise screamed, motioning toward Paisley with her chin.

Nan and I turned toward one another and broke out laughing. “Good dog!” we both cried in unison.

“Yay, I helped!” Paisley sang as the officers escorted Denise away from the scene.