Lucy shook her head, tears splashing down her cheeks as she tried to quell the surge of blood soaking her sweater and Ms. Watson’s jacket. “Tressa, you don’t understand. Close the door and lock it. The father of this baby isout there.” Fresh tears coated her cheeks as she rubbed at her tiny belly. “I think he’s got a gun.”
“What?” The shrill tone of my reply hurt my own ears and made me painfully aware a second too late that I’d just given away our hiding place.
“How long has Bastien been out there with him?” I tried to calculate how many minutes it’d been since he’d left me.
Too long.
That was how long.
Fear and courage swam in my veins, steeling my muscles for the bravery I knew I needed to save the man I loved.
“I’m going.”
“Not unless you have a death wish.”
I didn’t have the heart to answer her.
I’d given it over to Bastien.
The sounds of a scuffle were slight but present as soon as I opened the door into the church. “I’ll be right back. Two minutes, I promise, Luce. Just hang tight, okay?”
Our eyes met, gazes watered down with fear.
“No, Tressa, please.” She looked down at Ms. Watson. Before Lucy could look back and beg me to stay again, I slipped out of the sacristy and into the main chamber of the church. My eyes scanned the pews, searching for anyone else who may need help.
It looked clear, the only victims already accounted for in the room I’d just left.
Sliding along the cold stone wall, I measured my breathing with my footsteps, keeping to the shadows as the sound of soft grunts grew louder in my ears.
Bastien’s warm, deeply inflected voice uttered something before all was silent again.
I came to the corner, only steps away from the set of doors that would open into the front vestibule of the church. Eyes caught on the iron cross that hung on a tiny hook next to the door. “I know I don’t deserve it, but please pray for the man I am about to save.”
Barbed wire cinched tighter around my heart, crushing my courage one millimeter at a time, deflating my resolve.
I could run the other way.
Escape out the back door, dial 9-1-1 as I ran down the sidewalk, and never look back.
And then I heard it.
The soft snick of a bullet sliding into a chamber.
Fire tore through every vein as I fisted the heavy cross on the wall and yanked, the old hook coming free of the stone easily before I powered with all the force I had through the double doors and into the vestibule. A man in black, beanie pulled low over his head, gripped Bastien’s neck with one hand, a gleaming revolver in the other.
The barrel aimed right at Bastien’s temple.
Without pausing, I smashed the cold iron cross into the attacker’s head, unwilling to stop, newfound stores of primal energy running on a violent cycle through me. He fell to the ground, gun clutched in one hand, and still, I attacked.
Blood pooled, streaking from the edges of his beanie and fueling my rage.
Bastien swept the gun from the man’s limp fingers and made quick work of tying the assailant’s hands as tightly as he could muster with his belt.
Once Bastien was sure he was secured, his eyes met mine.
“I’ve got him,” Bastien murmured, hand slipping over mine to ease the cross from my hands.
I gave it up, feeling the tension drain from my muscles as I did.
