CHAPTER 3: The Trap is Sprung
The wood splintered with a deafening crack.
James was thrown backward onto the hardwood floor. The giant of a man lunged into the foyer, his hand reaching inside his coat for a weapon. But James was faster. He raised his pistol and fired once.
The gunshot was blindingly loud in the enclosed space.
The bullet caught the intruder in the shoulder, spinning him around. He groaned, crashing into a small side table, sending a ceramic vase shattering to the floor. But before James could fire again, a second man rushed through the open doorway, tackling James to the ground.
The gun went skittering across the floor, sliding right toward the closet door where Sarah and Emma were hiding.
Sarah watched in horror through the slit as James fought desperately on the floor. He was fit, but these men were professional mercenaries, trained to kill. The second man pinned James’s arms, while the bleeding first man struggled back to his feet, his face twisted in rage.
"Where is she, Anderson?" the bleeding man snarled, kicking James hard in the ribs. James gasped, coughing up blood, but he didn't say a word.
"Mommy..." Emma whimpered softly in the dark closet.
Sarah’s hand flew over her daughter's mouth. Tears blurred her vision. If they find us, they will kill James, and they will take us back to that living hell, she thought. I have to do something.
She looked down. The silver pistol was sitting just inches from the closet door.
Her hands shook. She had never fired a gun in her life. She hated violence. She had spent years running from it. But looking at James—a man who had risked everything just because he saw a hungry mother in a McDonald's—she knew she couldn't let him die.
Slowly, silently, Sarah pushed the closet door open an inch. She slid her hand out, her fingers wrapping around the cold, heavy steel of the grip.
"I'll ask you one more time," the scarred man growled, pulling a knife from his belt and kneeling over James. "Where is the girl?"
"Go to hell," James spat.
The man raised the knife.
Sarah kicked the closet door open.
"Get away from him!" she screamed.
Both men froze, turning their heads. When they saw Sarah standing there, holding the heavy pistol with both hands, shaking violently but pointing it straight at them, the scarred man laughed.
"Well, well. Look what we found," he sneered, slowly rising to his feet. "Put the gun down, princess. You don't have the guts to pull that trigger."
"Try me," Sarah whispered. Her voice was no longer shaking. The fear had burned away, replaced by a cold, protective instinct that only a mother possesses. "Step back. Now."
The man took a step forward, his hand reaching out. "Robert wants you alive, but he didn't say anything about you being unhurt. Put the—"
BANG.
Sarah pulled the trigger. The recoil sent a shockwave up her arms, and the bullet shattered the windowpane behind the man. It didn't hit him, but the sheer shock of her actually firing made both men hesitate.
That split second was all James needed.
With a roar of effort, James threw the man pinning him off and swept his legs out from under the scarred man. Both mercenaries crashed to the floor. James grabbed his gun from Sarah’s hand, pointed it at the men, and grabbed Sarah’s wrist.
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"Run!" James yelled. "Get Emma! The car is in the alley!"
They bolted out the back door into the freezing rain, the sound of shouting and sirens beginning to echo in the distance. They had escaped, but their sanctuary was gone. They were officially running out of places to hide.
