The Last Word (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

feel empty. Hushed, but not empty.
    Rawlings threw the car into park, turned off the engine, and sprang out of the driver’s seat. He moved soundlessly up the front steps, crouching low, every cell in his body on alert.
    The women watched breathlessly. None of them had seen the chief in this state of sharp readiness, prowling on the balls of his feet like a big cat, one hand curled over his holster.
    Olivia inched forward in her seat as the chief knelt down to peer through a crack in the blinds. She could tell by the way his hand tightened over his holster that he was alarmed by what he saw.
    As though he felt her eyes on him, Rawlings pivoted and signaled for them to stay put. He then disappeared around the corner of the house.
    “I don’t like this,” Laurel said in a small voice.
    Millay looked at Olivia. “Someone’s in there. If it had just been Harris, the chief would have gone inside.”
    “I think you’re right.” She had seen the tension flood into Rawlings’ shoulders. There was danger within the bungalow and she needed to know what it was. She needed to be certain that Rawlings would not face it alone. By the time his backup arrived, it could be too late.
    “I’m going to look in the window.” Touching Haviland briefly on the neck to assure him that she’d only be a minute, Olivia slid from the car and closed the door with a gentle click. The air was filled with the sawing of cicadas, the hungry buzz of mosquitoes, and the scent of rain. A breeze tickled the back of Olivia’s neck, carrying a taste of the coolness of the thunderstorm, and the sensation helped sharpen her mind. She felt the blood rushing through her body, her heartbeat drumming with such force that surely the bats flitting about the treetops could hear her approach.
    Following the chief’s lead, Olivia sank low and put her face close to the glass. She tucked her chin and looked into Harris’s living room.
    There was Harris, tied to one of his kitchen chairs. His upper body had been secured with rope, and his wrists and ankles were fastened with duct tape. Face flushing a bright red, he was speaking to someone, his mouth moving rapidly. Olivia could see the sweat staining his shirt and could almost smell his fear. She moved carefully, hoping to catch a view of his assailants, but they were out of range.
    Someone began to shout. It was a woman’s voice, demanding, crackling with anger and desperation. Then, the lower timbre of a man’s voice. Olivia couldn’t hear the words distinctly. The man seemed to have more control over himself than the woman, but there was an edge to his speech, as though he was fully aware that their time was growing short.
    Olivia saw Harris’s eyes widen. He shook his head fiercely, and she didn’t need to be inside the room to know that he was trying to convince the man and woman of something—that his life could depend on his ability to do so.
    These observations took place in a matter of seconds, but to Olivia they stretched out, like a strip of sand curving far into the distance. Everything seemed to slow. The air was charged, filled with the dense electricity and breathlessness of the moment preceding a lightning strike.
    Instinct told Olivia that Harris was out of time. The woman was yelling again, and then she suddenly came into view, charging into the living room with an enraged howl.
    It was Cora Vickers.
    She had a revolver in her hand, and as Olivia watched, she straightened her gun arm and brought her free hand up to steady her grip. Her right thumb pulled the hammer back, and an icy resolve surfaced on her features. This was no idle threat. Cora was not getting the answers she wanted and was prepared to silence Harris for good.
    The swirling thoughts in Olivia’s mind stilled, converging into one. She had to act before Cora’s ire exploded, giving her the push she needed to pull the trigger.
    Rushing to the front door, Olivia banged on the wood with both fists. She could hear Haviland’s agitated barking inside the car but did not turn around. Her intention was to distract Cora, giving Rawlings a chance to gain entry and draw his own weapon. She had no idea where Boyd was and whether he was armed, but there was no time to come up with a more complex plan.
    “I should have brought my Browning,” she muttered and returned to her place at the window. Cora was no longer in sight, but Harris had turned his head to the side, his terrified eyes meeting hers. He shook his head in