Texas Hold 'Em (Smokin' ACES) - By Kay David Page 0,39

she’d have a better chance at controlling the situation. Originally a shotgun house—you could shoot through the front door and the bullet would go out the back—the house had morphed through the years into a conglomeration of additions. It was still a straight shot from the living room to the kitchen, but like spokes on a wheel, four other hallways now radiated off the living room as well. In the kitchen, there was only one way in and one way out. The bad guy would have to go through her to escape unless he turned and went back into the living room. She had a fifty-fifty chance he’d come her way.

“I think I’m gonna need a hammer,” she said loudly. The air tank on the condenser gave off a dull thud as she tapped it with the butt of her gun. “You got one inside in the kitchen, don’t you?”

The sound of heavy footsteps reached Rose through the screen, the scrape of something being dragged or pulled accompanying them. With grim satisfaction, she nodded to herself. He’d clearly moved into kitchen and brought Hattie with him. Rose caught a murmur of protest before it was abruptly cut off.

Her weapon in hand, she slipped up the porch steps and edged toward the screen door. Just as she reached for the handle, everything went to hell.

Back in the living room, the battered front door blew open with a screech as Carl Stanley burst inside. Waving an axe above his head, he charged straight toward the kitchen with a banshee cry.

Stealth no longer mattered. Rose flew through the screen door at the other end of the house. Trapped between them, the man with the knife wheeled in confusion, pulling Hattie by the hair as he pivoted first toward Rose and then toward the old man. In his shock, he dropped the knife, and it tumbled to the floor and slid across the kitchen. He reached for it without thinking and Hattie twisted out of his grip, scrambled away on all fours.

“Drop to the floor,” Rose cried at the man. “Drop, right now!”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Hattie pull herself up and grab a skillet from the stove with both hands. Rose barely had time to jump back as the old woman darted closer, then slammed the cast iron against the stranger’s head. The pan connected with a sharp clang against his temple, hot oil splashing over his arms and down his legs. His scream filled the kitchen as he fell into a tangled heap. Rose approached him with her gun arm extended, but Carl beat her there. Gasping as he stood over his wife’s attacker, he paused long enough to catch his breath, then he brought the axe down with a powerful swing. Rose’s heart stuttered as the deadly edge thudded into the hardwood floor within inches of the man’s face. The blade was still vibrating as Rose dropped to her knees, brought out the zip ties, and secured the intruder’s arms behind him.

Maybe their son was right. The Stanleys were just fine on their own.

…

For the second time in twenty-four hours, Santos picked up his phone and answered a call from Rose, dropping the greasy rag he’d been using to polish his chrome wheels to the floor of the open garage just behind the safe house. “Everything okay?” he asked without saying hello.

“Everything’s fine.”

Relief came over him. Every day that went by gave Ortega one more day to move against Rose. Attackers and menacing candles were only the beginning.

“But I’ve got an intruder who’s waiting for an ambulance. He ran into a cast iron skillet full of hot grease, and it didn’t end well for him. The skillet survived. I’m not real sure he will.”

He listened with amazement as she told him what the older couple had done. “Who’s the guy?”

“His name is Ricky Cervantes. He’s a minor player. I’ve picked him up on pot charges before, and he did a few years for meth. Had one domestic disturbance, but his girlfriend refused to file on him.”

“What’s his connection to the Stanleys?”

“There isn’t one.” Any surviving trace of amusement over the situation disappeared from her voice. “The Stanleys had no idea who he was. They said he simply showed up this morning and pulled out the knife. Then they all sat down and waited for me. Sometimes if I’m short on time, I sound the horn, they wave out the window, and that’s it. Carl was sent out to