High-Stakes Holiday Reunion. Christy Barritt
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anything she’d ever felt before today threatened to suffocate her. It was only a matter of time before the gunmen found them up here. It was only a matter of time before they killed her and Christopher.
Ashley scooted from beneath him and crouched by the wall. “Do you still have your gun?” she whispered.
Christopher pulled himself up and squatted beside her, alert and ready to spring into action. He shook his head. “I left it on the table inside. Wasn’t planning on needing it.”
“They’re going to kill us.” Her voice cracked as the gunfire continued. Was it her imagination or was the sound getting closer and closer?
He gripped her arm, his voice stern. “Don’t say that. We’ll get out of this somehow.”
Was he in the same place she was? “We’re sitting ducks. It’s just a matter of time before they find us.”
“Don’t talk like that. I’ve gotten out of worse before.” He nodded toward the bathroom. “Stay low and go into the bathroom. We’ll buy ourselves as much time as possible.”
Her hands trembled against the floor as she dragged herself toward the small space. He’d gotten out of worse than this? She couldn’t imagine. Didn’t want to imagine.
Nausea roiled in her gut. Lord, help us. Help David and Josh.
Just who were these men? Why did they want her dead? How had they found her? The questions repeated themselves over and over.
Her hands connected with the cool tile of the bathroom floor. Gunshots continued to explode outside. They were trying to make sure Ashley was dead, weren’t they? And out here in the country, there was no one else around to hear the commotion and come help.
Fear threatened to seize each of her muscles. Christopher jetted into the bathroom behind her and quietly shut the door. Ashley climbed into the bathtub—located against an interior wall—and Christopher sat beside her. She pulled her knees to her chest and tried to even out her breathing.
The cold air seemed to crackle with fear, with certainty of death.
Then everything went silent outside.
Ashley wasn’t sure which was worse—the gunfire or the silence.
What were the gunmen doing? Had they gone inside the house to look for them, to make sure a bullet had pierced their flesh?
When they discovered Ashley wasn’t there, would they come out to the garage to finish the job? She pressed herself harder into the cool tile.
Christopher leaned close enough that Ashley could feel his breath on her cheek. “Stay here. Understand?”
“Where are you going?” She grabbed his arm, desperate to keep her only known ally close—even if he had broken her heart at one time.
He locked gazes with her, that same confidence that had always made her feel safe shining in his eyes. “I’m going to find something to fight with.”
“But they have guns!” She squeezed harder, her own fear creeping in.
“If I go down, I’m going to go down fighting, Ashley.” His voice was steady, holding not even a hint of disbelief. “I want you to stay in here. Lock the door when I leave. Understand?”
She couldn’t answer. She only stared at him silently. Despair threatened to bite deep.
“Understand?”
Finally, she nodded as reality set in.
He tried to stand but Ashley pulled him back down. “I came here for your help, not to get you killed.” Her voice cracked with fear and regret. How had her life turned into this?
His eyes softened for a moment. “I know. Trust me. Okay?”
She didn’t know if she could ever trust him again. But in this moment, she had no choice. She nodded. Her heart pounded in her ears as he pulled the door open. She held her breath, waiting for more gunfire to break out—only this time closer.
There was nothing.
He pointed to the lock before closing the door. Tears rolled down her face as she turned the button and heard the mechanism click in place.
Lord, be with him. Please. He may have broken my heart, but I never wanted this.
Something creaked outside.
The steps. Someone was coming up the steps.
Fear squeezed tighter as she braced herself for whatever was about to come.
THREE
All Christopher had been able to find in the closet was an old metal pipe that was probably leftover from some plumbing work. It wasn’t a gun or a grenade, but it would work. He didn’t have any other options.
He stood on the other side of the door frame, pressed into the wall and ready to swing into action. Adrenaline surged through him, intensifying his heart rate and causing sweat to dot his forehead. If he could catch the shooter off guard, maybe he had a chance.
The problem was that he’d estimated there to be at least three shooters. All of that gunfire had come from more than one weapon. These men carried semiautomatics, and they’d brought no shortage of ammunition. One man he might be able to take. But an unarmed man taking on three men with semiautomatic weapons?
Another round of gunshots cracked the air outside of his home. Flashbacks of the Middle East pounded his memories. Mortar shells, improvised explosive devices, enemy combatants. Men bleeding, women crying, children searching for their parents.
He ran a hand over his eyes. No, he was in Virginia now. Not a dusty village in Afghanistan. So why could he practically smell the burning of C-4? Why did his skin feel gritty with sand and dust?
He shook his head. Snap out of it, Jordan.
But the memories continued to batter him. He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he could turn off his thoughts as easily as turning off a TV.
Another creak on the stairs pulled him back to reality, back to the here and now. Someone was definitely coming up. Christopher gripped the pipe tighter, bracing himself for the coming struggle.
Another creak. Then another. They were getting closer. They had to be only a few steps away.
Christopher would swing as soon as they opened the door. Best-case scenario, he’d knock the man out and grab his weapon. Worst-case scenario...well, he wouldn’t go there.
All he knew was that he and Ashley might be the only hope for saving a little boy. That was worth fighting for.
A wooden step outside moaned under the weight of an intruder. Whoever the man was, he was right outside the door now. Christopher could practically hear him breathing, could almost feel his presence only inches away, separated by the door.
He tightened his grip on the cylinder in his hands. His muscles were wound tight enough to spring. Sweat trickled down from his temple. It was do or die.
Just then, a bullet pierced the air. His gaze darted across the dark room. Where had that gunshot come from? It was too far away to have come from the man outside the door. Even more concerning—had it pierced the garage? Was Ashley okay?
He stared at the door, waiting to see the handle jiggle. He anticipated more shots exploding. Something hit the landing outside the door with a loud thud. A moan followed, then a grunt.
He willed himself to remain still. Everything in him wanted to open the door and see what was happening. He had to remain silent, though. Patience could mean life or death; winning a battle or losing it. He’d learned that through experience.
Afghanistan flashed into his mind again. At once, he was transported back in time and pressed against the wall of an abandoned house. Rags—or were they clothes?—were strewn across the dirty floor. The air smelled like death.
Where