“Hi,” I say, forcing brightness into my voice. “Like I said, we’re closed.”
My chest tightens.
This part of D.C. is safe, and yet every alarm in my body starts screaming at once, red lights flaring in places I didn’t know I had neurons.
My gaze flicks to the counter my hands are resting on, and my mind ventures to the lockbox hidden beneath it.
“Can I help you?” I manage to say as my fingers slide along below the counter until they brush the cool metal beneath.
The lockbox hums as it recognizes my thumbprint. I feel the faint clicks as it disengages.
“You’re Enya Cahill.” His accent is Russian.
I have no idea why I lie, but I know I must. “No.”
He throws his hood back, and he’s the perfect typecasting for a Russian villain in a Bond movie. He smirks. “I know who you are.”
He lunges.
I scream.
His hand clamps around my arm.
I twist, driving my elbow hard into his ribs because Grandma Lucille insisted on self-defense classes.“Sweet girl, you never know who you’ll meet when you’re alone.”
He grunts—surprised more than hurt.
I reach for the lockbox, desperate now. I don’t know who this man is, but I know one thing with bone-deep certainty—he’s here to hurt me and my baby.
Not going to happen.
He catches my wrist.
“Come with me,” he says.
“Absolutely not,” I snap.
He yanks me toward him, but he’s too slow—he wasn’t expecting resistance.
I wrench free just enough to shove my hand into the lockbox. My fingers close around cold metal.
Grandma Lucille’s Glock.
I’ve only used it at the range. Not recently. I’m praying it’s like riding a bicycle and that I’ll know what to do.
I rip it free, flick off the safety, and point it straight at the Russian man, even though my hands shake like leaves.
He freezes for a moment and then takes a step toward me. He’s not afraid.
“Stop. Now.” My voice is steel. It has to be. I have a baby to protect.
I don’t want to shoot a man. I don’t want to kill anyone. I will if I have to, but….
I don’t know what makes him hesitate, but he does, just long enough.
I shove him backward with everything I have. He stumbles, off-balance.
I don’t wait.
