Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 126580 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126580 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
I was hoping we had guys that didn’t have a clue about the house, but just in case—I eased over to the other side of the room, my gun drawn but pointing downward. I opened the window, then moved back and went into the closet behind where my mom was.
Glancing back, but I couldn’t see anything.
I heard her shuffling, moving something back there.
I was praying she was going for the crawl space.
A second later, as I heard them come up to the second floor, I felt her tapping on my foot, and I moved my foot back, exploring the area. She was in the crawl space. I moved over, feeling down there, finding her, and I pushed her a little back into the space. She went in, and I reached, finding the covering. I moved it in place.
“No,” she whispered when she realized what I was doing.
I shut the covering and moved in front of it. They’d stop at me. I wasn’t going to let them get through me, but I eased forward, back to the closet door.
It was one person, not two. I was hearing only one set of feet moving around.
This person wasn’t a burglar. If he or she was, they’d be stealing and leaving. This person was looking for my mom, but they’d gone into my room first. They knew about me, knew I was here.
Anyone friendly would’ve called out my name. I was assuming that meant this person was here to kill me, my mom, or both. Trace was heading into something, which I knew about. I’d let him go because that was his life. Not mine, but this was a fight being brought to my front door, literally. This time, I was wading in. I was all in, and whoever was coming through on the other side of that door—I took the safety off of my gun and lifted it.
I would shoot to kill in this situation.
I moved the closet door open a tiny bit so I could see, so I had line of fire, and I waited. This was my position I was taking.
I waited.
The door was locked.
I wasn’t hearing more than one person.
The quiet game was done. He couldn’t bust through the door and not alert us, but I hadn’t been in my bed. He knew, if he was smart and knew who he was going after, that the chances I was in here were high.
He had only one option, and I waited because he was going to shoot the lock, kick the door open, and then he’d charge in, probably with guns blazing.
I waited for him to make the decision.
My arms were up. I was ready. No one was behind me.
Pop, pop!
Now.
He kicked the door open and barged in. Gun drawn.
He flipped the lights on.
I saw him in the mirror on my mom’s dresser.
He was in all-black clothing, a ski mask. Square, medium height, built with broad shoulders. He moved in, his gun aimed at the bed, and he cursed.
I frowned. Was that . . .
He cursed louder, going to the opened window, then he whirled toward me. His gun was up.
I shot him before he could shoot me, and I shot him again and again until he was down. His gun clattered, and I ran over, finding it, kicking it away.
I knelt down, checking his pulse.
He was alive, but barely. His pulse was thready.
“Jesus Christ!” That came from behind me.
A second person?
I whirled, one knee on the floor and my arms raised. My gun was still drawn, but at seeing it, Leo reared backward, his hands in the air. “I’m unarmed. Jesus! Put the gun down, Jess.”
Leo.
It was Leo. He was friendly.
Things weren’t making sense, but it was my boss, my mentor. His hands were empty and in the air.
I lowered mine, and I moved away from the man.
“Jess?!” My mom’s voice rose in a high-pitched cry, and Leo cursed, sparing me a look before he went into the closet.
I moved over, unable to let go of my gun, and watched as he was helping my mom out of the crawl space.
Leo looked from her to me and back again. He was shaking his head. “What the hell happened here tonight, Jess?”
“What are you doing here?”
He shook his head, shock still on his face. He was holding my mom, his gaze going from her to me to the man on the floor. “I—I was coming over and heard a call go over the scanner. Recognized the address. Front door was open.”
Everything was coming at me at once.
The glass. A break-in. My mom. My gun. The window. The closet. The crawl space. Where I decided my stance would be. I would’ve given my life for my mom. I’d been fully prepared to engage in a gun battle. It was my job to protect her, and not because she was my mother. Because she was a civilian.