Ashe sent Gorya a smile, still carefully stirring. “I hope so. Could you open the back door and let in some cool air? Or do you think it will mess up the sugar and it won’t get to the hard crack stage, whatever that is.”
Jeremiah burst out laughing “Hard crack stage? That sounds like you’re cooking up some kind of drug instead of candy.”
She spun around, hands on her hips. “That’s it. I’m kicking you out.” She pointed to the door. “Now. Go away.”
“Come on, Ashe. You finally have cookies in the oven that smell like they aren’t the charred remains of zombies. I need sustenance. I’ll be good.”
“No, you won’t.” She knew he wouldn’t, but he did look hangdog. That particular expression was going to get him out of trouble for certain. She felt sorry for any woman who fell in love with him.
Gorya laughed at her. “I knew you’d give in as soon as he gave you that puppy dog look.”
He moved easily between the two metal islands locked in place in the center of the room, striding toward the back door. The two metal surfaces had been immaculate when she’d arrived in the kitchen. Now, they were a mess. She had no idea how they’d gotten that way. She’d never seen them like that when Evangeline was baking. Even when she rolled out dough and flour covered the surface, they never looked like this. She imagined she might have to buy the bakery new islands, they were that bad. It might be better than having to clean them.
She bent over the recipe, frowning as she found and laid out the small domes to use to make the cages. Some were flatter than others, but she began to coat each of them with cooking spray.
“Thoroughly coat,” she murmured aloud, over and over.
“Is the record stuck?” Jeremiah asked, turning toward her, laughing.
A blast of cool air swept through the room and she gasped, dropping the spray can and hurrying to her sugar, afraid it would ruin it. As she turned to run, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gorya crumple to the ground like a rag doll. The sound of a muffled gun was simultaneous. She knew instantly the weapon had a silencer on it. Contrary to popular belief, silencers didn’t completely stop the sound of a gunshot. Her father had fired bullet after bullet from various guns until she could tell him what they were just by the sound.
“Jeremiah!” She yelled to him as she sprinted toward the fallen man. He was closer and already his head was turning toward Gorya, who was sprawled half in and half out of the kitchen.
Jeremiah got to him first, stepping to the side of the door and reaching with one hand to snag the shoulder of his shirt. Up close, Ashe could see blood spreading fast across the pale blue material until it was the only color she could see.
“Get back!” Jeremiah yelled as he jerked hard to pull Gorya in.
The shooter clearly was behind the Dumpster to the left of the door and had shot at a close angle. He fired again and Gorya’s leg jerked. Then Jeremiah was falling back, still dragging Gorya. Ashe saw blood on Jeremiah’s shoulder and pain clearly etched into every line of his face. She leapt across the doorway, took hold and shut it as Jeremiah managed to get Gorya all the way inside. She slammed the lock into place and then pushed the rolling trays in front of it, taking the time to lock them in place. They were light and wouldn’t hold for long, but it was all she had.
Whirling around, she saw immediately that Gorya was in trouble. “Jeremiah, get on your feet. You have to help me.” She poured authority into her voice. She could see he was in shock from the pain. She reached for Gorya. She was leopard, and she was strong. Her parents had taught her all kinds of skills and made certain she trained daily.
Miraculously, Jeremiah got up, swaying, but up on his feet. With his good arm, he helped her drag Gorya to the far end of the room where the small bathroom was.
“There’s a first aid kit under the sink. You keep him alive,” she ordered. “I’ll hold them off. Call for Fyodor and Timur. Tell them we’ll need a helicopter. He won’t make it waiting for an ambulance to get him there.”
“Ashe,” Jeremiah started.
“Don’t argue. You’re a mess.” She slammed the bathroom door shut and raced back to the two metal islands Evangeline had as her workstation. They were long and sat in front of the door leading outside. Both were on rollers. She unlocked them and rearranged them, leaving enough room for it to open. Sooner or later they were going to get inside. She guessed by the sounds outside, it would be sooner. She put them wide enough to block either side of the door, forcing whoever came in to go down the middle between the two islands. She locked them in place.