A click came from somewhere nearby, and she froze.
“Hello? Is somebody there?” Stop it, she thought. There’s nobody—
Something zipped past her ear, splintering the door frame beside her. At the same instant, the two front windows shattered as black-clad bodies burst through them into the room, aiming large semiautomatic weapons at her.
As the next bullet zipped past her ear, she dropped to the floor and rolled out of the apartment, then sprang to her feet and sprinted down the hallway. Bullets tore through the wall beside her, ripping through her living room and bedroom. Those are powerful guns. She scolded herself for the thought. Why are you analyzing their weapons at a time like this? Go, go, go!
Her left knee began to sting, but despite knowing what that sting might mean, she kept moving. She’d taken a bullet before, during her time in the Amar military. She’d joined out of loyalty to her family’s heritage and as a way to earn dual citizenship with both countries she considered home.
She reached the elevator and paused, but the thundering of boots behind her said she’d run out of time. It was back to the stairs.
She spun on her heel and slammed her body through the door into the stairwell. She felt air displacement as a bullet whipped past her shoulder. She gripped the hand rail and took the stairs three, four at a time, swinging her body around at each landing to gain precious seconds in her escape.
Of course, if whoever was shooting at her had left somebody outside to guard the exits, she’d be done for. And she’d never know why.
It doesn’t make sense. Why are people shooting at me? And why shoot to kill instead of taking me into custody or as a hostage?
Had she done something or said something political since returning from Amar? But that wouldn’t make sense. Both countries were on the best of terms, especially since the recent discovery by an American professor of an ancient archaeological site in Amar had resulted in a boost in tourism and significant global press about the partnership between several universities there and here in the United States.
“I don’t know anything,” she said through gritted teeth. “What are you after?”
At the base of the stairs, she pressed her ear against the exit door, listening. She heard nothing unusual outside, but the pounding of heavy footfalls in the stairwell and the sudden ding of the elevator doors told her she’d run out of time to make a decision.
It was escape or die, which left her with only one real choice. She shoved the crash bar on the door, blinking against the descending sun’s rays. The footfalls were growing closer and closer, and another gunshot told her that they weren’t too concerned about ricochets in the metal stairwell—so they were very stupid, they wore full body armor or they were highly trained and incredibly accurate shots when presented with a normal target. Perhaps they hadn’t accounted for her military training. Or maybe they had—maybe that’s why there were so many of them.
Seeing no one outside waiting, Yasmine let the heavy metal door swing shut behind her as she sprinted toward the street. Several cars drove up and down the street on either side of the road, but she saw nothing unusual for this time of day...except the three black Suburbans parked in front of the apartment building. She crouched behind a steel waste container and peered around the corner, praying that nobody in the SUVs had been assigned to watch this edge of the building. When no one jumped out of the vehicles and ran toward her, she sent a quick prayer of thanks to God and tried to calm her racing thoughts.
At any second, men with guns would come bursting out of that stairwell door, and it wouldn’t take them long to find her. She couldn’t run back to the building to reach her car—the parking structure was on the other side, and if there were still men in the black SUVs, she’d never get there in one piece.
None of it made sense, but she’d have to figure out the whys later. If she survived.
She took a deep breath and counted to ten, exhaling slowly. She’d have to make a run for it down the street. She had to make it only one block before she’d reach a fairly busy street, where she should be able to get help and maybe flag down a ride to the police station. She plunged her hand into her bag and touched her phone, thinking to get a head start on a 911 phone call, but she’d run out of time—the side door burst open and five black-garbed men poured out and stood in a V-shaped formation, scanning the area. Even their faces were covered by shiny helmets and faceplates.
She swallowed hard, kicking herself for not moving seconds earlier. She’d taken too long to decide what to do next, but that didn’t mean she was going to stay here and wait for a bullet to find her.
I don’t know what’s going on, Lord, but I’m going to trust that You have a way out for me. She closed her eyes and visualized the route she would take. Three, two, one...
Yasmine took off in a crouch from her hiding place, hoping the waste disposal bin would provide enough cover to distract the gunmen from seeing her right away. It didn’t take long, though. While she didn’t hear any shouts behind her, she felt air whoosh past her arm as she ran. They were still shooting, and they clearly didn’t care if they hit anyone or anything else.
A car turned the corner at the end of the block, and Yasmine’s heart sank. She waved her arms, not caring if it made her a bigger target. “Turn around! Go back!” she shouted, hoping the driver would hear her, but he kept coming down the road. If he continued, he’d head right into the line of fire.
She veered off the sidewalk and into the street, heading directly toward the car. Even if the driver couldn’t hear her or was trying to ignore her waving arms, there was no way he’d be able to avoid a person right in the middle of the street.
“Reverse! Call the police!” She reached the center of the street, but the car didn’t slow down. She put on a burst of speed as more air displacement near her shoulder and waist told her that it was only a matter of seconds before the shooters had her directly in their sights.
And if the driver wouldn’t stop, she’d force him to.
She ran straight toward the hood of the car and let herself be swiped by the side of the front bumper. The car screeched to a halt as she took the hit, tensing her body and rolling off to the side, collapsing on the opposite side of the hood.
Before the driver could open his door and jump out to ask questions, Yasmine reached up, grabbed the passenger door handle and threw open the door. Then she lunged inside, slammed the door shut and slid down in the seat so that she couldn’t be seen through the windshield.
“There are men with guns coming this way,” she said in a rush. “Reverse the car or we’re both going to get shot.”
As if in response, a bullet slammed against the windshield, sending a spider web of cracks spreading out from where it struck. Yasmine gaped. Why didn’t it shatter?
Only then did she think to look at the driver of the car, who stared at her with an expression of utter disbelief. “Noel?” she said. “Noel Black?”
“Yasmine Browder?” He laughed, though his mouth hung open in shock. “What’s going on here? Why are you in my car?”
Ping. Crack. More spider webs spread across the windshield. It didn’t look like the thing could take many more hits.
“Can we do this later?” She pointed at the cracks. “Preferably while we’re both still alive?”
“Right.”
