Pushing myself to my feet, I take several long, shuddering breaths. I shove the phone in the waistband of my shorts. I wipe one sweaty palm on my leg, then the other.
Then I creep from the closet, my heart pounding so hard I have a fleeting worry I might have a heart attack.
Before I leave the bedroom, I cock the trigger—something frowned upon in normal circumstances, but in this case, I’m doing it. Then I crack the door open and peer into the hallway.
There’s nothing. Just a darkened hall with a small nightlight at the end of it; one of the several Nico put throughout the condo so I wouldn’t be scared if I got up in the middle of the night.
Flattening myself against the wall, I inch my way towards the living room. I strain my ears to catch the sound of something—anything—the scuff of a shoe on the floor, a whispered voice, the soft thwack of a fist hitting flesh.
But again, there’s nothing.
So hold my breath and keep moving.
It’s not until I reach the entrance to the living room that I see them.
Three men, just as Nico said. One is peering into the dining room, his gun dully glinting in the moonlight streaming through the windows. A second is looking inside the coat closet. And the third is over by the sliding patio doors, looking out to the terrace.
The man by the closet turns around first. He jerks his head towards the hallway that leads to the bedrooms. My heart skips, but thankfully, he doesn’t see me.
In a low tone, he says, “Everything’s clear out here. They’re obviously both sleeping.”
The man by the patio doors comes over to join him. “We’ll do one room at a time. This guy’s former military, so he might have some skills. We don’t want to underestimate him.”
The man looking into the dining room joins their small huddle. “He was probably some grunt. We can take him. And once we do, the woman will be easy.”
Fear expands inside me so quickly there’s no room for anything else.
Despite it, I’m doubly glad I came out to help.
But what do I do? Take a shot now? Try to pick off two before they realize what’s happening?
What about Nico, though? Where is he? I know he’s still in here?—
Like a ghost summoned from another realm, Nico comes flying out of the dining room, a blur of shadow and movement.
He leaps at the huddle of men, his arms and legs a blur.
I see a fist fly out. A leg.
Something snaps. A wavering shriek of pain follows.
One of the men collapses to the ground
Nico spins and attacks the next one. It’s dark, but not too dark to watch the whip of his leg as it collides with patio-man’s stomach.
The man lets out a loud gasp. Then he doubles over.
Nico punches him in the throat.
The second man goes down.
The third raises his gun and snaps, “Stop! Or I’ll fucking shoot!”
I leave the hallway to enter the living room. The gun shakes in my hand, but I force it steady.
Nico faces the gunman. “No. You won’t.”
Nico’s Sig is still held low by his leg. Because he’s worried about being shot if he lifts it? Or he has a different idea entirely?
