Emily had already released the zip ties around her wrists, methodically loosening them groove by groove until the plastic slipped off. She kept her hands behind her back and waited for an opportunity. One guard sat near her in the frilly bedroom. He squirmed a bit in the ladderback chair that was turned away from the small desk where his Glock rested and read something on his phone. They both heard the pebble hit the window, but only the guard looked up.
“Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?” Emily glanced his way from her seat against the headboard. “Can I have something to eat or at least read? I’m bored.”
The guard picked up on Emily’s attempt to distract him. A little reverse psychology had done the trick.
“Shut up.”
He rose and crossed to the window. Emily only heard the quick break of the glass and the thud of the guard as he fell. Without pause, Emily shot to her feet, grabbed the Glock from the desk and waited. She knew Nathan and his men could neutralize the guards patrolling outside. That left the guard outside her door and Sava. He had still been downstairs when she was escorted to this hideous bedroom. She removed a pink case from the menagerie of pillows decorating the bed and waved it in front of the window. Hopefully signaling to the sniper that she was a friendly. When no shot came, she slipped in front of the glass and raised the window. The second-floor windows were not connected to the alarm system. Unfortunately, the shouts from the sentries outside accomplished the same objective, and the second guard threw open the bedroom door. Emily had never shot an actual person before. She had never killed a man. She had never been shot herself, but all three of those things happened in the next instant.
“Got him. He’s heading to the cemetery,” Twitch spoke into the comm unit to Nathan who was moving in the shadows across the grounds.
“How convenient.”
“It’s a smart move. Lots of cover, trees, and graves, and there’s a shed where he could store an ATV. There’s access to a service road there. He’s not planning his funeral; he’s planning his escape.”
“Not this time.”
The guard and Emily fired at the same time. Emily had aimed for center mass as she’d been taught but his shot caused her to flinch slightly and she hit the guard in the side of the neck. Same result. The guard’s shot grazed Emily’s torso. Blood was dripping down her side.
Ren appeared at the doorway, quickly assessed the situation, and crossed to Emily.
“Let’s have a look.”
“How do people in movies get shot, then run all around fighting bad guys? This freaking hurts.”
Ren chuckled. “Imagine how an actual bullet wound would feel.”
Emily glanced down at the injury. “Oh.” She would describe it as a deep scratch. Then she remembered. “Ren, I’m pregnant.” If he was surprised by the news, he didn’t show it.
“Nothing to worry about, Emily. This barely qualifies as a wound, much less a gunshot wound.”
She could hear Caroline’s voice in her head: Hey, it counts; a bullet from a gun caused bodily harm. You got shot.
“You’ll need a couple of stitches, I think. Let’s get out of here, and I’ll get you cleaned up.”
“Is it over?”
Ren looked out the window into the night, then clicked his mic to signal something to the team and nodded once.
“Almost.”
Dario Sava was out of breath when he reached the cemetery. Why was he even running? A bullet would be a more merciful end than what awaited him. The cancer was everywhere: his lungs, his liver, his brain. He nearly laughed. Perhaps that was the reason for the series of errors in judgment that had led him to this place. He moved across the graveyard, heading to his wife’s headstone. He checked the time.
“Happy anniversary, darling. I’ll be joining you soon.”
“Yes. You will.”
Dario spoke without turning. “Ah, Mr. Bishop. I hadn’t factored you into the equation properly. Your reputation as a lothario is very effective.”
“Thank you.”
“I imagine you bought my book as well?”
“Yes.”
He turned from his wife’s grave to face his doom. A small object nestled in his hand.