Then another.
And another.
That was four shots so far.
From what I could tell, he was using a 9mm subcompact. That meant he had roughly six to ten bullets.
Another shot.
But no screams.
How was she not screaming? Knowing I would come?
I had no idea.
But there was one thing I did know: that the sound was too muffled to come from outside.
They were in a building somewhere.
I moved backward toward the sound, scanning the buildings, trying to figure out the most likely one she’d have dipped into to try to hide.
I pulled doors as I ran.
But everything was locked.
Then, like a fucking beacon in front of me, I saw it.
A partially renovated building.
There was a chain-link fence around it, but the gate was thrown wide.
Even if the doors were locked, she could have possibly used the scaffolding to get inside on the second floor.
As I started to run, there was another shot.
Six, right?
That could be it.
Or there were four left.
It was anyone’s guess.
One thing was for sure, though.
Steph was still alive if he was still shooting.
Hope soared as I grabbed a piece of rebar before running toward the door.
The door wasn’t even fully latched.
And on the ground beneath me, before the darkness inside swallowed the evidence up, there were wet footprints.
Bingo.
Everything inside me wanted to run, to charge into whatever the situation was. The other part forced me to take it slow, to rein in my impatience.
I needed to be smart.
