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“Chelsea, open the door.”
The cold voice outside the bedroom makes me shiver, but I won’t crumble. I have a bit of time here. This bastard doesn’t want a busted door frame to call into question the murders. Doing the only thing I can think of, I rush into Jackson’s bathroom and open the shower door. I fastball the bottles against the tile wall one by one, shattering them. It’ll leave a mess, but the killer will have to pause and reset.
Only when every last one is broken do I open the window. The drop to the ground is short, but running on these wedges isn’t easy, especially on the spongy earth.
The sound of the bathroom door frame shattering echoes through the open window. Guess he’s given up keeping things neat. My feet hit another gear and I’m soon around the front of the house again. I rip my shoes off and enter the front door, locking the deadbolt behind me. Rushing past the kitchen, where Jackson is still out, I slam the back door closed and secure it as well. The bathroom window I left open is next.
After a brief search for Caleb, I find him unconscious and tied up in a guest room. I don’t stay long, knowing a locked door won’t keep the mole out for long. He could cut and run, but he won’t. I’ve seen his face. Plot or no, he can’t leave me here alive.
I tiptoe back toward the kitchen, turning off lights as I go. Wood slivers from the shattered door frame stab into my feet, but I can’t stop. The emergency call is still active when I retrieve the phone, so I put the device to my ear. “Are police on the way?”
“Yes, but the phone’s location is turned off. I can only pinpoint your location to a certain range.”
Damn it all to hell! “I’m at the home of Jackson Bennett of the US Navy.”
A window shatters, and the glass lamp beside me explodes. Shit, that was close. I drop the phone and crawl to the kitchen, shredding my clothes and belly on the broken glass. The lights are still on in here, and Jackson is a sitting duck, lying beneath a window.
I jump up to hit the light switch and dive over Jackson a split second before a bullet pierces that window. Fire erupts across my shoulder blade, and fear pierces my chest. It’s all over now.
More glass shatters, but it’s just the gun knocking the rest of the broken pane from the frame. The low sill gives the traitor a perfect bench height from his stance on the ground outside. “A valiant effort, Chelsea, but your time is up.”
I bury my head in Jackson’s chest and whisper, “I’m sorry, Jackson. I love you.”
Then I close my eyes and wait for the kill shot.
Jackson
Air rushes from my lungs when something slams into me, pinning me to the floor. The scent teasing my nose is familiar and pleasant. I must be dreaming. The dream becomes a nightmare when the sound of a gunshot rings in my ears. Memories of the night come rushing back: Chelsea’s car and the gun. I turned and ran before the first shot but stopped when I realized it wasn’t a bullet that hit me. I reached around and felt a gloopy mixture seeping through my shirt.
Convinced it was a bad joke, I was ready to put Chelsea over my knee for her prank. I turned back toward her car to do just that when that big bastard poured out of the driver’s seat.
I had no idea who he was or why I was still alive. All I knew was that I had no interest in hanging around to find out. I ran for the house, only making it to the porch before the dizziness hit.
Whatever was in that paintball shouldn’t be working that fast. My first attempt to get the door open was a failure. With my second, the door yielded, but so did I. The floor rushed up to meet me, but I never felt the contact.
I feel everything now. The tile beneath me, Chelsea above me, and death coming for both of us.
The smell of blood teases my nose and taints Chelsea’s delicate fragrance. The gunshot! Chelsea must have been hit. I can’t make my body or mouth work to check her for signs of life. Please don’t be dead. Unable to do anything else, I focus all my concentration on detecting breathing movement.
Her chest moves against mine, meaning she’s still alive. I’ve got to get us out of here, wherever here is. My eyes open to see we’re in my kitchen. Noting the breeze, I look to the window on my right and the gun barrel just beginning to peer over the sill from outside.
This is no air rifle. It’s the real thing.
“A valiant effort, Chelsea, but your time is up.”
The man’s voice is unfamiliar, but his threat isn’t. I test my fingers, finding that I can move my hand. The rest of my body refuses to obey my order to roll over to protect Chelsea, still too hampered by whatever drugs were in that paintball.
“I’m sorry, Jackson. I love you.”
Chelsea’s whisper triggers a surge of adrenaline. Like hell will I let her die. I focus all my energy on my right hand and that weapon. My arm lifts off the floor, and I snatch the gun right out of the asshole’s hands.
The gun and my hand fall to the floor, me having used up all my strength in that small maneuver. A face appears in the broken window, one I don’t recognize. The window is chest high for him, and his arms lift to rest on the sill. He can easily reach inside and retrieve his gun. I can do nothing to stop him.
“Nice try, Lieutenant.”
As much as I don’t want to see this coming, I won’t let this bastard see me afraid. I stare him down, watching him reach for the gun. A flash of movement from Chelsea catches my notice just before her hand shoots out and reaches the pistol first. She quickly aims and fires three rounds through the opening.
The man outside hits the ground a second later, and Chelsea drops the gun to the floor.
