The Winner by David Baldacci

She took the steps slowly. When she reached the top, she stared in amazement. The place was set up as a small study and observation area. Two bookcases, a beat-up leather chair and ottoman, and an ancient potbellied stove stared back at her. In one corner, an old-fashioned telescope was set up to look out a huge window in the rear of the barn. As LuAnn climbed up and looked through the window, her heart started to pound. Riggs’s truck was parked behind the barn.

As she turned to run down the stairs, she found herself staring down the barrel of a twelve-gauge shotgun.

When Riggs saw who it was he slowly lowered the weapon. “What the hell are you doing here?” She tried to move past him, but Riggs grabbed her arm. She just as quickly pulled it free.

“You scared me to death,” she said.

“Sorry. Now what the hell are you doing here?”

“Is this how you usually welcome company into your home?”

“Company usually comes in through the front door, and only after I’ve opened it.” He looked around. “This sure as hell isn’t my front door, and I don’t remember inviting you in.”

LuAnn moved away from him as she looked around the space and then returned her gaze to his angry features.

“This is a nice place to come and think. How would you like to build me something like this at my house?”

Riggs leaned up against the wall. He still held the shotgun in the down position but he could swing it up into a firing position in the matter of a second. “I would think you’d want to see my work on the fence before you hired me for something else, Ms. Savage.”

She feigned surprise at the sound of her name but apparently not enough to satisfy Riggs.

“So, did you find anything else of interest in my office besides my homework on you?”

She looked at him with even more respect. “I’m a little paranoid about my privacy.”

“So I noticed. Is that why you carry a pistol?”

LuAnn looked down at her pocket. A sliver of the .38 was visible.

“You have good eyes.”

“A thirty-eight doesn’t have such great stopping power. If you’re serious about your privacy, and your security, you might want to step up to a nine millimeter. A semiautomatic over a revolver is a no-brainer.” The hand holding the shotgun twitched for an instant. “I tell you what, you take the revolver out, muzzle first, and I’ll stop fussing with my shotgun here.”

“I’m not going to shoot you.”

“That’s absolutely right, you’re not,” he said evenly. “Please do as I say, Ms. Savage. And do it very slowly.”

LuAnn took the pistol out, holding it by the barrel.

“Now unload it and put the bullets in one pocket and the pistol in the other. And I can count to six so don’t try to be cute.”

LuAnn did as she was told, looking at him angrily. “I’m not used to being treated like a criminal.”

“You break into my house carrying a weapon, that’s exactly how I’m going to treat you. Count yourself lucky that I didn’t shoot first and ask questions later. Buckshot can be very irritating to the skin.”

“I didn’t break in. The door was open.”

“Don’t try that one in a court of law,” he fired back.

When Riggs had confirmed that she had emptied the revolver, he broke open the shotgun and laid it down on the bookcase. He crossed his arms and studied her.

Slightly unnerved, LuAnn went back to her original train of thought. “My circle of friends is very small. When somebody intrudes on that circle I tend to get curious.”

“That’s funny. You call it intrusion, but what I did this morning ordinarily would be called coming to the rescue.”

LuAnn brushed a strand of hair out of her face and looked away for a moment. “Look, Mr. Riggs—”

“My friends call me Matt. We’re not friends, but I’ll allow you the privilege,” he said coolly.

“I’d rather call you Matthew. I don’t want to break any of your rules.”

Riggs looked startled for a moment before settling back down. “Whatever.”

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