The television was off—and the dark screen reflected everything happening on the balcony. Especially the two men walking to the balcony door.
Her stomach clenched. Her throat constricted. She wasn’t sure she was breathing—she was pretty certain she was panicking.
She followed their reflections on the tv screen. They opened the door, shut it, and walked into the living area. Another six steps and they would see her.
Oh, dear God, please help. Please help me. I need you. I need a miracle.
A knock sounded at the door. “Tayla, it’s Jason. Let me in.”
She looked up and faced both intruders, staring at her. The first one held a finger to his lips. The second man pointed a gun at her.
Jason knocked again. “Tayla?”
The first intruder whispered, “Let him in. But don’t tip him off.” He made sure she saw the gun and understood the implication.
She understood.
He shooed her toward the door.
“I’m coming,” she called out, but her voice cracked. What was she going to do? She couldn’t just lead Jason right into . . . well, an ambush?
She took her time walking to the door and unlocking the deadbolt. “Did you enjoy your golf game?” she asked as she opened the door.
He raised an eyebrow. “Golf?”
“Yes, how was golf today?” If her nonsensical questions didn’t communicate something was wrong, the two fingers she held up in front of her chest, and her terrified, teary eyes surely did. She mouthed the words, ‘two of them,’ and watched Jason reach for his gun.
“The weather was nicer today,” Jason nodded and continued their improvised act. “And I avoided the sand traps this time.”
His casual tone contradicted the intensity in his grip on her arm. He pulled her behind him. Shots fired.
Maybe she should have anticipated him firing his weapon. But she didn’t. And she jumped. And probably screamed. But she wasn’t sure. Her hands flew to her ears, a moment too late. The shots—two, she thought—were ear-splitting. The deafening sound vibrated through her chest. Her ears rang. Stunned by the explosive noise, shecouldn’t move. She simply stared at the scene unfolding in front of her.
The intruder with the gun fell back, dropping his weapon. The second man lunged for it, but Jason intercepted him. They fought. And it was an altercation unlike anything Tayla had ever witnessed. Jason’s actions—explosive, efficient, and clearly skilled—subdued the second attacker before Tayla could take two full breaths. Not that she was sure she was breathing at all.
Jason ordered the man to lie face-down on the floor with his hands behind his head. The man moaned, spat some blood on the floor, and complied.
Tayla glanced at the shooter. He was still laying on the ground, but she watched his chest rise and fall.
Jason’s head whipped to her. “Are you okay?”
“Y-yes.”
“Are you sure? Are you hurt?”
His eyes travelled over her body, his gaze attentive, worried.
Something warm bloomed in her chest, insisting she was safe with Jason. She didn’t know what to do with that.
“I’m . . . I’m okay.” She watched him lean over the shooter. “Is . . . is he . . .”
“He’s alive.”
“Where’s Leland?”
“He stopped by his room to—” His attention—and his gun—pivoted to the door when it swung open.
“It’s me,” said Leland, aiming his own weapon around the room. “I heard shots.” He glanced at the men, calculated the situation, and turned to Tayla. “Oh, Tayla. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
