the next second, the man in the black hoodie grabbed her arm and swung her around. He snaked his arm around her throat and held her against him as a human shield. The truth of the situation slammed into her like a fist to the gut. Bank robbery. Hostage. Gunfire?
Gunfire! Her ears rang from the loud shots the robber fired, as well as from the screams of the other women in the bank.
“I said no heroics!” the robber shouted, his arm aiming off to her right.
Fresh terror washed through her. She registered the movement of people dropping to the floor and covering their heads, as though watching through water. Someone to her left sobbed.
The robber pushed her forward, and she stumbled, her feet as heavy as concrete blocks.
“You, behind the counter,” he shouted, waving the gun toward the tellers. “Let me see your hands! No alarms or I shoot you. Got it?”
The two tellers gaped at him, their hands shaking as they lifted them over their heads.
“Got it?” he asked again in a roar.
Their heads bobbed, and the younger teller whimpered, “Please, don’t shoot. I have babies at home. They need me.”
The gunman swung his weapon toward the young mother behind the counter. “Do what I say, and you’ll live to see those kids again. Start filling bags from the drawers. Make it quick!” He turned slowly, dragging Lilly in a 360-degree pivot with him as he checked the room. He paused when he spotted a man on the floor with his cell phone out, pointed toward the robber. He fired his weapon two more times, shattering the phone and wounding the man’s hand. “Really, asshole? Is a video for your Twitter feed really worth dying over?”
As the robber continued turning, Lilly’s gaze darted toward where Dave had been standing. Some part of her brain knew he was her best chance of assistance. But he was no longer standing where she’d left him. Her breath sawed in panicked gulps as she scanned the lobby. She spotted him hovering over the security guard, who was lying on his side, blood staining the front of his uniform shirt. Blood. Lilly’s gut swooped.
The robber noticed Dave, too. He swung the handgun in his direction and yelled, “Hey, cowboy! I said no heroics. On the ground, hands where I can see ’em. Now!”
Dave lifted both hands, which were smeared with red. “Whoa. Easy, man. The old guy is bleeding out from where you shot him. I’m just trying to help him.” Dave put his hands back on the guard’s wound, clearly trying to staunch the bleeding. “You could say I’m helping you, too. You don’t want a dead security guard added to your rap sheet.”
The gunman glared at Dave, then whipped his attention back to the tellers. “Where’s that money? Let’s go! Let’s go!”
The older woman behind the counter shoved a stack of bills toward him along with a bank bag full of cash. The robber, obviously needing to free the arm he had around her neck, released Lilly, shoving her toward the floor. “You get down and don’t move.”
She obeyed, and when she glanced up at him, he waved his hand toward her large hobo-style purse. “Give me the bag.”
Again, fear and disbelief rendered her motionless.
“Do it!” He kicked at her and grabbed the strap of the bag, snatching it off her shoulder with force. Jerking open the snap closure, he jammed handfuls of bundled bills into the purse.
Frowning, he paused in his frenzy and waved a banded stack of cash at the older teller. “Ones?” He leaned across the counter and smacked the woman’s face with the money.
The woman gasped and pressed her hand to her cheek as she staggered back from the counter. Lilly tensed, hot anger flaring in her gut.
“Do you think this is a game?” he shouted at the teller. “That I did all this for ones?” Then a movement or noise must have caught his attention, because he whirled around, swinging his weapon toward the lobby. “Stay down! Hands out where I can see ’em!”
A ripple of murmurs and gasps rose from the customers and employees hunkered on the floor. Lilly cut a glance toward Dave.
Helen’s ex had a glacial stare pinned on the robber. Although he was mostly flat on the floor, one hand was still out of sight, under the injured security guard, presumably tending to the man’s wound.
Then Dave’s gaze flicked to Lilly’s and locked. Softened with concern and questions. Her heart gave a soft bump, and an odd warmth spread inside her. Dave’s concern for her made her feel less alone, less frightened.
But a moment later, Dave returned a steely glare to the robber, who’d finished grabbing up the bagged money and stuffing her purse with bills. The thug backed toward the door, making his getaway.
Knowing that some punk was able to come in here, shoot people and take what wasn’t his, then waltz out again, offended Lilly on a deep, cellular level. Rage flared in her core like a blacksmith’s furnace. She wanted to launch herself at the man and claw his eyes. Wanted to scream in his face the way he’d—
A man from the street entered the bank, walking blindly into the robbery. The thief spun around. Panicked. Fired toward the new customer. Lilly jolted, stunned.
The man from the street grabbed his side, then turned and ran out.
Screams filled the bank lobby as the robber fired again toward a desk where a secretary had crawled to hide. When the robber aimed his weapon at the front counter of the bank, Lilly rolled toward a stuffed chair in the waiting area outside the loan offices.
Two more shots rang out. Different weapon. Different pitch to the blasts.
Shaking, she peered out from behind the chair. The robber was hunched forward, his shooting arm limp. Spitting out a curse, his booty clutched in his left hand, the robber scuttled toward the exit. Another shot boomed from the new weapon, shattering a glass partition at the bank entrance. And then...silence. As if everyone in the bank was holding their breath, uncertain. Was it over?
Lilly sat up slowly, trembling, her mind reeling, her heart slamming against her ribs. A groan, a sudden movement near the fallen guard, drew her attention. Dave had surged to his feet, a gun in his hand, and he jogged, limping, toward the door where the robber had fled. The expression he wore was determined. Murderous.
* * *
He’d kill the sonofabitch, Dave swore, gritting his back teeth in pain as he rushed out of the bank. Given a clear shot, he would stop that bank-robbing cretin from maiming innocent bystanders, assaulting old ladies and killing security guards ever again. But his bum leg slowed him down. He didn’t make it to the parking lot before the robber had climbed into a rusty sedan and was racing onto the main road through town. Dave knew better than to fire at a moving vehicle on a city street. Too many drivers shared the road, too many people had poked their heads out of nearby businesses, likely having heard the gunfire.
Growling under his breath, he lowered the revolver he’d taken off Deputy Hanover, and raised a hand to rub his face. He stopped when the blood on his palm caught his eye. A sick feeling swelled in his gut. He’d tried to help the fallen guard, but the older man had died even as Dave tended him. He’d had his hand on the man’s chest and felt the slow drub of his heart stop.
“Dave!”
He
