And then.
He calls out, “Daniel!”
Though I desperately want to watch, I do what Ryan asked and flatten myself to the ground.
Like a row of dominos falling, the rest of the hostages do the same.
“What!” barks Daniel.
A blinding light flashes, its beam pulsing rapidly.
A moment later, there’s a surprised yelp.
Footsteps rush by me, pounding the laminate floor.
An angry roar precedes the sound of flesh meeting flesh.
There’s another yelp, but this time it’s pained.
“How dare you?” growls Ryan. “On Christmas Eve! All these innocent people!”
Something solid hits the ground with a metallic clunk.
Though I’m supposed to lie flat, I turn my head in hopes of catching a glimpse of Ryan, wishing with all my heart that he’s okay.
At first I can’t tell. It’s just a blur of bodies tangled together.
Then I spot the gun off to the side, maybe six feet away.
So I leap up and run over to the gun, snatching it up with my sleeve covered hand.
Harold—who was obviously watching, too—shouts, “He doesn’t have the gun anymore!”
I turn around just in time to see Ryan cock his arm back and let it fly.
His fist connects with Daniel’s face in a burst of blood.
Broken nose, I note with satisfaction.
Daniel screeches, “My nose! You broke it!”
Ryan snarls darkly,“Good.”
And then, in a scene that could be plucked straight from an action movie, Ryan flips Daniel over and wrenches his arms behind his back. “I need restraints,” he calls out. “Ropes. Zip ties. Something.”
Greta scrambles to her feet and rushes over to the display of scarves. She snatches a handful of them off the rack and runs to Ryan’s side. “Here,” she says. “They’re stronger than they look. They should hold until the police get here.”
Ryan gives the scarves an appraising look. “They should,” he agrees. And he quickly ties Daniel up, first his wrists, and then his ankles. Once Daniel’s fully restrained, Ryan stands and scans the room, his gaze jumping to me.
“Willow.” He spots the gun in my hand. “What? You shouldn’t… You need to sit…”
“I’m okay,” I reply.
“I can take that,” Harold says. He comes to my side and holds his hand out. “I’ve been hunting for decades.” He stops. “Unless you’d like to hang onto it.”
“That’s okay.” I pass it over to him, muzzle pointed down. As soon as he takes the gun, I jog over to Ryan and fling my arms around him. “You’re okay,” I blurt. “You’re okay.”
His arms come around me. “I’m okay.”
