spewing shards of wood into the entrance hall. Another shot.
Becca saw the flash of light. She didn’t hesitate, just fired off all
seven rounds. He heard the dick click click when there were no
more bullets in the clip.
There was dead silence. Adam was on his knees right behind
her, furious with himself because his Delta Elite was in his carryall
in the guest bedroom. “Becca? I want you to stay right here. Don’t
move. I’ve got to get my gun. Stay down.”
She gave him a quick look. “Go ahead and don’t worry. We’re
not helpless. I hit him, I know it, Adam.”
“Just stay down.”
“It’s okay.” He watched her pull another magazine out of her
jacket pocket. He stared at her as she slowly, calmly shoved it into
the Coonan.
“Go get your gun,” she said, looking out the window, her back to
him. “If I didn’t hit him, I can at least keep him away from the
house.”
He couldn’t think of anything else to say. He was up the stairs and
to the bedroom in three seconds flat. When he came back downstairs,
his pistol in his hand, Becca hadn’t moved. “I haven’t seen a thing,” she
called out. “Do you think maybe I -was lucky enough to hit him?”
“I plan to find out. Keep a sharp lookout. And don’t shoot me.”
And then he was gone before she could draw a breath. She heard
him walk quickly through the kitchen, then the back door opened
and closed very quietly. She prayed she’d hit him. Maybe right in his
throat, where he’d hit the governor. Or in the gut. He deserved that
for killing that poor old bag lady. She waited, waited, not moving,
watching for Adam, for his shadow, anything to show her he was all
right.
Time passed so slowly she thought it would become night before
anything more happened. Suddenly, she heard a shout.
“Come on out, Becca!”
Adam. It was Adam and he sounded all right. She was through
the front door like a shot, her hair tangling in her face, realizing
only then that she was sweating and cold at the same time, and
laughing. Yes, she was laughing because they were safe. They’d
beaten the monster. This time.
Adam was standing at the edge of the woods, waving toward her.
It was in the exact same direction where she’d fired off all seven
rounds. He waited until she was right in front of him. He smiled
down at her, then wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her
hard. “You got the bastard, Becca. Come take a look.”
Blood on fallen leaves. Like Christmas decorations–rich dark
red on deep green.
“I got him,” she whispered. “I really got him.”
“You sure did. I’ve looked but I can’t find a trail because once
he realized he was out of the game, he stanched the wound and
carefully brushed ground cover over his tracks so he wouldn’t leave
any kind of a trail.”
“I got him,” she said again, and she was smiling. “Oh God,
Adam, no!”
“What is it?”
“Your arm.” She dropped her Coonan back into her jacket
pocket and grabbed his hand. “Don’t move. Look, this splinter of
wood is stuck in you like a knife. Come back to the house and let
me get it out. Oh God, does it hurt really bad?”
He looked down at the shard of wood sticking like a crude knife
out of his upper arm. He hadn’t even felt it. “It didn’t hurt before
I knew about it. Now it hurts like the very devil. Well, shit.”
Thirty minutes later, they were arguing. “No, I’m not going to a
doctor. The first thing the doctor would do is call Sheriff Gaffney.
You don’t want that, Becca. I’m fine. You’ve disinfected me and
bandaged me up. You did a great job. No problem. Let it go. You
even pushed three aspirin down my gullet. Now, how about a big
jigger of brandy and I’ll be ready to sing opera.”
She thought of Sheriff Gaffney coming here and asking questions
about a guy who shot at them. “My my, who’d want to do that,