Ninety-Two

It happened fast. One second she was staring Reyes down, practically daring him to shoot her, the next, Sabrina was the one doing the shooting.

He’d demanded she walk over to him, and she’d refused, knowing the moment she did, her chance to use her LCP would be lost. She’d jammed it into her waistband on the fly; the only reason he hadn’t seen it yet was because it was behind her. The second he saw it, her one advantage would be lost.

“I said come here, Sabrina. Don’t make me do something we’ll both regret,” he said, punctuating his demand by thumbing back the hammer of the gun in his hand.

“You’re gonna kill me anyway. I think I’ll stay right here.”

She could see him shift his hand around the grip of the gun—no doubt getting ready to make good on his threat—when there was a noise upstairs. A shattering of glass on tile.

The second Reyes turned his head toward the sound, she reached behind her, the LCP all but leaping into her palm. By the time Alberto Reyes had refocused his attention on her, she was already pulling the trigger.

Three times in rapid succession the LCP bucked her hand as she dove for cover. Reyes returned fire, a bullet catching her center mass, mushrooming against the ultralight vest Courtney had given her.

She fell, landing hard on the tile, her breath stolen as much by the impact of the bullet as by her collision with the floor. She found her feet and started running. If Michael was here, he’d go for Leo first; she had to give him time to secure the boy.

Before she’d taken more than a few steps, something hard and heavy caught her in the back of her head and she fell, landing on the tiled floor for the second time in less than a minute. Her ribs screamed in protest, snapping where they’d been cracked by the shot she’d taken.

She screamed, frustrated and desperate to lead Reyes as far away from Michael as she could. Sabrina flipped over and raised her gun to take another shot, but Reyes was already on top of her. Standing over her. Pulling the trigger.