If she was being honest, she too was a little astonished.
It was like a part of her was looking down at herself running like a harridan across the parking lot after a mysterious man and asking,What in the world do you think you’re doing, Hannah? What’s your plan once you catch him?
But she was like a dog chasing after a car. She wasn’t thinking about the actualcapture. She was one-hundred-percent focused on the pursuit. On gaining ground.
“Hannah!” she heard Sam call from behind her.
If she’d been thinking, she would’ve slowed her roll and let him take over the footrace. He was faster. Stronger. He was freakin’armed. But shewasn’tthinking.
She was acting on instinct. On the need to gain some goddamned control of her life.
Had there been an NFL scout around, she might’ve been drafted. The way she launched herself through the air, tackling Vick to the ground, was a thing of beauty.
Air rushed out of the man’s lungs with a loudoomphwhen she landed on top of him. Her chin bounced off his shoulder—good thing or else it probably would’ve bounced off the pavement. And her knee hit the ground hard enough to have her wincing in agony.
Maybe it was the pain that brought her to her senses. Or maybe it was simply having caught her quarry that had her snapping back to reality. Either way, she did her best impression of a wrestler, clinging to Vick with all four limbs, when he tried to shake her off him.
“Get off me, you crazy bitch!” he bellowed, somehow managing to twist around in her grip until they were face-to-face.
His dark eyes were bloodshot. His breath was foul with the sour stench of fear. And there was no mistaking the hard tip of the knife that suddenly poked into her side.
Cold dread washed over her, reminding her of the time Candy had pushed her into Lake Michigan in late March.
She leapt up to avoid the blade, but he matched her movement so they gained their footing at the same time. As she faced the custodian, chest heaving from the effort of her mad dash across the parking lot, she noted how the morning light glinted malevolently on the blade clutched tight in his hand.
She went to step back, but his eyes tracked over her shoulder and spied something that caused his nostrils to flare. The next thing she knew, he grabbed her wrist in a cruel grip.
Before she could react, he spun her around, snaked one arm around her waist and used the other to press the tip of his knife into the space between her ribs.
“Hands in the air!” Sam bellowed. He’d skidded to a stop not six feet from them and had assumed a shooter’s stance. “Let the woman go and put your hands in the air!”
With his beard gone, she could see the hard muscle ticking in his jaw. His breaths were deep and rapid. And there was no mistaking the fiercely determined gleam in his eye.
Movie-quoting Sam was gone. Love-making Sam was gone. Hell, even baseball-watching Sam was gone.
All that was left was the soldier. The fighter. Sergeant Samuel James Harwood, Marine Raider and marksman extraordinaire.
“Throw down your weapon or the woman gets it!” Vick screamed, his shrill voice making her eardrum rattle.
The blade dug deeper into her side, making her cry out as hot blood seeped from her flank to dampen the fabric of her borrowed dress.
She was going to owe Becky a replacement.
Of course, buying one meant she had to get out of this situation alive. And at the moment, that outcome seemed iffy. The way the custodian was careful to keep her in front of him, he’d left Sam with little to aim at.
Up to that point, Sam hadn’t spared her a glance. He’d been zeroed in on the man behind her. Now his gaze shot to her face, and the confusion she read there told her he couldn’t see what Vick had in his hand.
“He’s got a knife,” she whispered and watched the blood drain from his cheeks just as Fisher and Eliza skidded to a stop next to him. Their weapons were up and at the ready.
“I’m on your side!” Vick yelled. “I haven’t done anything wrong!”
“If that’s true,” Sam was quick to counter, “there’s no reason not to cooperate. Just step out from behind the woman, drop the blade to the ground, and put your hands in the air.”
“No way!” She could feel Vick shaking his head. “The minute I let go of her, you’ll shoot me! All you pigs are trigger-happy fucks!”
“Don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this or not, Vick,” Fisher drawled, looking almost bored, “but when ya bring a knife to a gunfight, the odds aren’t on your side.”
Hannah’s heart scrambled around in the cage of her ribs like a wild animal. Her breaths were rapid and shallow, but even still, she didn’t seem to be getting enough oxygen.
