Jared sprang forward. He led with his right hand and clamped it up and under William’s chin, grabbing hold of his thick, fleshy neck. He felt his nails sink into the soft skin, and he squeezed as hard as he could, the muscles and tendons in his fingers and forearms straining to their breaking points.
Something hit him once and then twice in the side of the body. William Rose’s fist swung wildly, smashing against Jared, blows he couldn’t feel in the heat of the moment. The fist swung a third time, connecting with the side of Jared’s head, knocking him off balance and causing bells to ring deep inside his skull.
But he saw Natalie pull free.
She made a quick dash to her left, breaking loose from her dad’s grip.
William was then free to use both of his hands on Jared, and he did. He came forward while Jared still held on to his neck, adding pressure as much as he could.
Detective Poole came closer. She held a small canister in her hand.
Pepper spray.
She ordered Jared back. But he couldn’t move. William Rose held him by his shirt, his grip like iron.
The blows from the meaty fists rained down on Jared. He swung his right leg up, kicking with as much force as he could generate. His first attempt missed, glancing off William’s shin. But when he tried again, he connected with flesh. Jared wasn’t sure where—either the enormous man’s groin or his gut. He didn’t care. It stopped the assault for a moment, allowed Jared to reassert his grip.
But then one more punch fell, landing against the side of his head. Brightly colored stars and whirligigs swirled before his eyes, and then his vision clouded. Before the picture faded, something flashed behind William Rose.
A quick, blurring movement. Something swinging once and then again. William’s eyelids grew wide and then fluttered, and he fell forward while Jared jumped back, avoiding the falling body like a lumberjack ducking a large tree.
William Rose hit the floor, his eyes closed. He groaned, reaching for the back of his head, where blood was visible.
Jared looked to the open doorway, expecting to see the police. Instead he saw Rick Stearns, Domino55, the old guy who had come to see his mom. He stood there holding a thick branch like a baseball bat, and he posed like a triumphant hunter over his prey.
“I got him,” he said.
When William Rose stirred, as though he was about to stand up, Rick lifted the branch higher, ready to swing again.
“Hold it,” Natalie said. “Hold it.” She held her hand out, protecting him, and Rick stopped.
Detective Poole moved in. She pulled out a set of handcuffs and worked them over the man’s wrists. She snapped them closed and then straightened, the pepper spray and the gun out of sight as quickly as they had appeared.
“I hear a siren,” his mom said.
Within moments, the police were inside the house, swarming over the kitchen like uniformed ants.
? ? ?
Jared had never seen so many cops.
Some of them dragged William Rose out of the house while he continued to groan about the injury to his head. Different cops spoke to Natalie, Jared, Rick, and his mom. Paramedics hovered around as well, checking them all out. Jared told them he was fine, even though his side and his head started to hurt, dull aches from the blows William Rose had showered him with. He didn’t care. He sat close to Natalie, their bodies touching.
Detective Poole drank a glass of water. And then another. She said to Jared, “I thought he had you in the last round, but you hung in there.”
The paramedics paid a lot of attention to Rick Stearns. He sat at the kitchen table, drinking a glass of water someone brought him. Jared’s mom stood close by him while they checked his blood pressure and heart rate.
“I came by the house to say good-bye,” he said. “I was on my way out of town, and I wanted to thank you for listening to me.” He smiled up at Jared’s mom, but it looked as though it cost him some effort. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his face looked pale and ashen. “I saw that guy creeping around like he wanted to come in. I recognized him from the TV and the Web. I really did. I knew who he was, so I dialed the police. They weren’t far.”
“That’s why they got here so fast,” Jenna said.
“He worked his way in the back door,” Rick said. “Jimmied it or something. So I watched. Then I saw him coming back out with the girl. I heard the talking and the fighting. I figured he meant to hurt you or your son. I found that log out in the yard. I played some ball in high school. I knew what I was doing when I swung.”
“Do you have a history of high blood pressure?” one of the paramedics, a woman with brown hair pulled into a tight bun, asked.
“I do. I had a small stroke, a TIA they called it, two years ago.”
“His pressure’s sky-high,” she said. “We’re taking you to the hospital, Mr. Stearns.”
“No, no,” he said. “I don’t want to miss anything.”
“If you don’t go to the hospital, you’re going to miss everything,” she said.
“You should go, Rick,” his mom said, placing her hand on Rick’s arm. “You’ve done more than enough for one night. You saved us.”