Though my primary concern is getting out of here, I can’t help feeling sorry for her.
Greta doesn’t deserve this kind of crap. I mean, none of us do, but from what I’ve heard around town, Daniel’s really put her through the wringer. Coming home drunk every night—while they were still married, that is—spending weekends at the casinos gambling away their money, and rumor has it, even cheating on her.
So it’s not a surprise she divorced him. Whatisa surprise is Daniel holding a dozen people hostage in her gift shop for hours. With a gun. A gun he’s clearly not afraid to use, considering he already fired it three times.
The first was when he came into the store. Then again when he decided everyone wasn’t moving fast enough. And a third time just twenty minutes ago, when Mrs. Everts sneezed and he fired a shot into the Christmas gnome display before realizing what the sound was.
He hasn’t hurt anyone yet, though. I’m trying to take comfort in that.
And I have Ryan beside me. Not close enough to fling myself into his arms, like I’d really like to, but close enough to be reassured by his presence.
“I’m okay,” I whisper back. As Ryan’s hand moves away from my leg, I brush my fingers against his. “I just wish this would be over already.”
Ryan looks at Daniel, his gaze narrowing in anger. A muscle ticks in his jaw. Those admirably broad shoulders tense.
Is it wrong to be thinking about Ryan’s shoulders right now? And wistfully recalling the car wash we helped with this past summer, when his T-shirt got so wet it was practically see-through?
If it is, I don’t care. I need something positive to cling to right now, and if Ryan’s shoulders are it, I’m doing it.
“It will be,” Ryan murmurs. “I think the police are making some headway. And I’m pretty sure the SWAT team should be showing up soon.”
My stomach lurches at the image that jumps to mind—Daniel’s body flung backward in a flurry of bullets, then sprawled out on the floor in a growing pool of crimson.
I’m mad at him. Furious, really. But I really don’t want to watch someone die on Christmas Eve. Or any day at all, for that matter.
A shudder ripples through my body.
A cold sweat prickles along my back.
“Willow.” Ryan studies me with concern. “Are yousureyou’re okay?”
“I’m fine.” I work my lips into a weak smile. “Just stressed out. And scared.”
Except I’m not okay. And it’s not just from being held hostage in a gift shop on Christmas Eve.
Over the last hour or so, my body has chosen the absolute worst time to betray me. At first, I tried to convince myself it was all in my head. That the extreme thirst and fatigue and shaky feeling was from stress, and nothing more.
But it’s not.
An hour ago, I comforted myself with reassurances that we’d be let go soon. That Daniel would finally come out with what he actually wants instead of just ranting about how Greta screwed him.
An hour later, I’m getting nervous. And I most definitely amnotokay.
Ryan frowns. “I’m sorry, Willow.”
“It’s not your?—”
“Is someone talking?”Daniel bellows. He spins to glare at Ryan and me. “You two?”
I clamp my mouth shut, but not before a tiny, frightened meep escapes.
Ryan lifts his chin as he meets Daniel’s angry gaze with one of his own. But he replies calmly, “I was just asking if she’s okay. Since we’ve been sitting here for a long time. That’s all.”
“I said no talking,” Daniel gripes. But his gun lowers back down to point at the floor.
“What about the bathroom?” Mrs. Events asks. Her voice shakes. “I need…”
“Shush,” the woman sitting next to her hisses. “Don’t make him angry.”
