as the hallway was so far from the window. There was nothing to do but try. It would have to be quick and sure, and she was neither.
But Boone was counting on her. There was no doubt in her mind that the bastard would shoot to kill.
She pulled her legs under her, balanced on her right hand. The flashlight was under the edge of the blanket, so she knew the bastard couldn’t see it.
“What do you want from her?” Boone asked.
“What did I say? Did I tell you to shut up?” The bastard’s voice had risen to a shout.
“What did she do to you?”
“Boone,” she said, “shut up.”
“I just—”
“Shut up,” she said, louder this time. Everything would be over if the bastard turned away. She had to keep him looking at her, watching her. “I know what he wants. And I’m going to give it to him.”
The bastard laughed, and the sound made her sick to her stomach. It was as if all his twisted desires were right there in that low laugh.
She held her breath as she got to her feet, holding the flashlight by her side, making sure her finger was on the switch. “Tell me what you want,” she said, needing his voice to get her bearings. “I’ll do whatever you say.”
“I know you will. You’ll do every single—”
She turned on the switch at the same time she pointed the light straight at his voice.
He yelped, and then she heard a crash. Boone was on him, and they were both on the floor, the bastard’s gun glinting in the beam.
“Your gun,” Boone screamed, and then he took a blow that knocked him to the side.
She ripped at her T-shirt and got the Glock. She was holding the flashlight and she didn’t want to drop it, but she’d never fired the gun with one hand.
The two men were still on the floor and she’d never been so scared in her whole life. If that prick hurt Boone, she’d kill him a hundred times.
Their grunts and punches sounded flat and unreal. If she could just get the gun over to Boone, it would all be okay. She tried to steady the light, but when she did, she saw that the bastard was hitting Boone with the butt of his weapon, and Boone was bleeding badly. He punched the son of a bitch, but it only stopped the fight for a moment. The gun came up again, smashing against Boone’s temple.
She couldn’t aim the gun, not when she was shaking so hard. Boone’s words came back to her, telling her what to do.
She climbed over the mattress and didn’t let herself think, she just went to where he was bashing Boone with the gun and she had to stop him, right now. She threw the flashlight down, held her gun with both hands and pushed it into the bastard’s side, right there, right where he was lifting his arm to hit Boone again, and then she closed her eyes and pulled the trigger.
Nothing happened.
It was the safety. She cursed and slipped the safety off, but then her legs were knocked from under her and she fell so hard her head bounced off the carpet and she couldn’t see or feel anything but pain.
The gun, her gun, was ripped out of her hands, and she curled up into a ball waiting to feel the bullet rip through her body. The sound of the gunshot made her scream and she jerked, but she didn’t feel anything except the pain in her head. All she could think was that Boone had to be okay. He had to or she would die.
“Christie.”
Hands on her shoulder, shaking her and she couldn’t open her eyes or stop the scream that was building in her throat.
“Christie, I’ve got you.”
She gasped as she opened her eyes. It was Boone, standing above her, swaying back and forth.
He lurched away to the hall, and the light blinded her painfully. When she looked up again, Boone was leaning against the wall, his face bloody, his right eye swollen. Her gun was in his hand, and dripping.
She struggled up and went to him, needing to make sure he was really there, that they were both still alive. She touched his shoulders then pressed herself against him, and when he looked down at her, that’s when she cried. Her tears flowed as she looked at his bruised and bloody face.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“No,” she said. Then she rose up on her toes and kissed him.
He grunted, but he kissed her back.
She tasted his blood, but she didn’t care. They’d made it. They’d lived. She was in Boone’s arms.
When she finally pulled back, she caught his wince. His mouth was really banged up, his lip split at the corner. “Oh, God, you’re really hurt.”
“I’ll be fine,” he said. He nodded past her. “You recognize him?”
She forced herself to look at the body lying on her carpet. “Oh, God.”
“Who is it?”
“Dan. The guy I…It’s Dan.”
“He won’t be—”
The front door flew open and Seth ran in, weapon drawn, his face a mask of rage. It took a moment for him to register that it was already over, and even then he went to the body, and kicked away Dan’s gun, then checked his pulse. As he crouched there on the carpet, he looked at the two of them. “Sorry. He didn’t trip any of the alarms. We didn’t know until we heard him talking.”
“I don’t know how the hell he got in,” Boone said. He closed his eyes. “I’m thinking crawl space.”
Seth came over to her and touched her shoulder. “You okay?”
“We’ve got to get Boone to a hospital. And call the police.”
“We can’t call the police,” Seth said. “And I’ve got a first-aid kit in the truck.”
“What are you talking about? He’s dead. We have to call the cops.”
Seth shot a look at Boone. “He wasn’t just a stalker. He couldn’t be, not with his equipment. We need time to check it out. And we won’t get that time if the police are called in.”
“You think he’s a spy? That makes no sense. What could a spy want with me?”
“We don’t know,” Seth said. “That’s what we need to find out. Now let me go get the first-aid kit, and you take care of Boone.”
“I’ll be okay,” Boone said. “Seth, have you called Harper?”
“Yeah. I’ll be right back.” He left, closing the front door behind him.
Christie stared at the closed door for a moment, still trying to process that Dan, who’d seemed so very normal, had been the one who’d destroyed her life. She
