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Inhale.
Exhale.
And the door wrenched open. “Gotcha.”
She didn’t even look when she swung.
Whack.
Breanna climbed over the console, bolted out the passenger side door, and didn’t look back. Then, running down the driveway, she collapsed with relief at the first sight of blue flashing lights.
An engine revved.
Jordy sped by, her gaze following the truck.
Another gunshot exploded, reverberating off the trees.
But this time, squeezing her eyes shut, Breanna screamed.
So. Fucking. Loud.
With the acrid scent of spent gunpowder tainting the crisp winter air, she opened her eyes. Headlights were coming toward her. Francie stood on the walkway, a rifle at her side. Too exhausted to get up, she sat in the snow, watching Derek’s Jag fly past her.
Jordy scooped her up and half-carried, half-dragged her over to Francie.
“Sinjin?”
But Francie didn’t answer, shouting instead, “Get her a blanket.”
“Hey, Randall. We’re gonna need another unit up here.” The static of a two-way radio. “For Breanna. No, she’s not shot.”
She didn’t see it, but she heard it.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Crash.
BOOM.
“What was that?” She heard someone say.
“Not sure, honey. Can’t worry about that now.”
“Where’s Sinjin?” Why wouldn’t anyone answer her, goddammit?
Sirens blaring, flashing red lights raced up the driveway. Medics jumped out, sprinting with a stretcher toward the door. “Up the stairs and to the right, Randall. Ted’s with him.”
“Sinjin?” Her tears falling, Breanna gazed up at Francie.
“Shh. Everything’s going to be all right.”
Nooo.
He looked so pale. Ted walked beside the gurney, his shirt and hands dyed red.
