Page 14 of Finding Forever

“Briggs gets past me,” Luke says flatly, “you blast him. No hesitation, Kit. Shoot to kill.”

Another thud echoes through the inn, heavier this time, and the reality of the situation slams back into place.

“It sounds like he’s at the front door,” I say, checking my phone. “There’s no alert from the security system so no break-in.”

“Does it cover the porch?”

“No. Only windows and doors.”

I push my feet into shearling boots, grateful I’d slept in a long sweatshirt and leggings. After locking a deeply unhappy Penny in the bathroom, I follow Luke into the hall, the shotgun heavy and solid in my hands.

Glass shatters in the front entry.

Penny’s furious barking explodes behind us, echoing through the inn. My heart pounds so hard I feel it in my throat. Luke is moving, a shadow ahead of me. When we reach the lobby, he snaps on the flashlight.

“Robert Briggs. US Marshals. Show me your hands. Now.”

There’s no hint of pain or injury, only direct, calm control.

Luke has ditched the sling. The flashlight is in one hand, his gun in the other.

Briggs freezes in the beam, gaunt, pale eyes empty as he blinks against the light. He’s broken the decorative window to reach the latch. He stands in the open doorway, an icy draft swirling around him.

“Sorry,” he says, shivering. “My car broke down. I need shelter.”

The orange prison pants are gone. He’s wearing a better-fitting coat.

I step to the other side of the doorway and bring the shotgun to my shoulder.

“People who want help knock,” Luke growls. “Hands above your head. Face away. Get down on your knees.”

“I don’t understand. I was driving and my car broke down.” His hand shifts toward his coat pocket.

“Stop. Do not reach.” Luke snaps out the orders. “Turn away from me. Get down on your knees and cross your ankles.”

There’s a moment when I think Briggs won’t comply, eyes flicking between our weapons. His shoulders sag. Slowly, he obeys.

“Kit,” Luke says without looking at me, “keep the shotgun on him. He makes a wrong move, shoot.”

I swallow. “Got it.” Then I say, “Are you sure it’s Briggs?”

“Positive. Don’t let him fool you.”

Luke orders Briggs to remove his coat. There’s a thud when he drops it to the floor. The next order is to lift his shirt and rotate. Briggs moves stiffly, winces like he’s injured, but complies. Only then does Luke approach, cuffing him one-handed.

With the snicking of metal closing around Briggs’s wrists, it feels like a weight has lifted.

We’re safe. Briggs is no longer a danger and the fear of the last twenty-four hours is over.

Luke searches the coat and pulls out a handgun. “Kit, I need clean plastic bags, zip top if you have them.”

With the shotgun over my arm, I move through the dark hallway. Taking the lantern from the bedroom to the kitchen counter, I dig through a drawer and locate another flashlight and the bags.

With Briggs in custody, there’s no longer a need to keep the inn dark. As soon as I can, I’ll start the generator. Poor Penny is now whimpering.

When I return, Luke bags the gun and ammo separately, then finishes searching Briggs.

“I told you, my car broke down. I carry the gun for protection,” Briggs insists. “You’ve got the wrong guy.”