Presumed Dead. Angela Ruth Strong
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would keep out any more bullets. But the windows wouldn’t. They couldn’t keep people out, either.
Preston pried Holly’s fingers off his arm. “Down. Crawl. Back to the computer room.”
“Why? I don’t under—”
Glass shattered from the window frame and tinkled to the tile floor.
Holly crouched and took off over the shards, toward the other side of the building. Preston followed.
The enemy wasn’t holding back. An enemy that wanted Holly dead so badly they were willing to take out Preston in the process. Hopefully, there was only one shooter. And hopefully, whoever it was hadn’t realized that the game room also included a computer room with internet access.
“Are those bullets? Are we being shot at?” she yelled back over her shoulder.
“Yes.” He slammed the door to the smaller room and barricaded it with a chair under the knob. “Get online and contact the police. I’m going to keep the shooter away from you.”
Holly logged in to the internet from a kneeling position. “I don’t think it’s Denise anymore,” she said, trying to use logic to make sense of a life-and-death situation.
No. This was not a crime of passion. This was a premeditated attack. “I don’t think so, either.”
“911. What is your emergency?” The voice echoed over computer speakers.
“We are being shot at.”
We? Did she just say “we”? Preston craned his neck around to send her a warning look.
Holly covered her mouth, eyes wide.
“Have you been shot?” the voice asked.
“No. No. The door is locked. I’m inside the computer room at Cedar Glen Lodge.”
“Police are on their way. Has anyone been shot?”
Preston splayed his hands as if he could feel the handcuffs. Unless Holly did some quick damage control, he’d soon be wearing them soon.
Or he’d be dead.
The door vibrated as a body slammed into the other side.
Holly’s heart thumped as loudly as the thudding on the other side of the door. Would the chair keep the shooter out? As if having the same thought, Preston pressed his body against the door, as well.
Help, Lord. Maybe she should help. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, making her limbs feel strong and shaky at the same time. She dashed toward the door to keep the enemy out.
“Miss? Has anyone been shot?”
Oh, the emergency operator. She darted back. “No.”
The door bulged again.
Holly’s heart jumped. Would the enemy bust through? Would this be her last moment on Earth? Would her parents have to mourn her death the way they’d all mourned Preston? Her heart ached for them.
Preston anchored his shoulder against the wood. He pushed his feet against the ground. His red face scrunched with exertion.
Another bulge. The chair underneath the knob crashed to the ground. Space between door and frame grew larger.
Holly charged. Together they could push the door closed.
The barrel of a gun appeared, followed by a hand.
She dug her toes into the floor harder. Leaned forward. Reached for the door to smash the shooter’s arm with the strength of her momentum. Almost there.
“Get down,” Preston shouted.
Holly ducked, but kept on going. She could slam the door closed from the bottom as well as she could from the top.
Pop.
Her arm flew backward. Her ears rung like a firework had exploded in her face. She blinked, trying to figure out if she’d made it to the door or not.
Someone called her name in the distance. Tile rushed up to meet her. She reached to catch herself, but the moment her left hand touched the ground, a searing pain shot up her biceps. Or was that her triceps? The pain grew to overtake both areas.
Had she been shot?
Blood dripped down to her fingers. Her blood. She sank to the ground, feeling nothing but the mangling of her flesh. It radiated through her whole body. Made her dizzy.
Had Preston been shot, too? The weight of her eyelids pulled her eyes closed, so she couldn’t find him. She tried to call for him but heard nothing except the low wail of sirens.
Police. Would law enforcement make it in time? Would she be okay? Would Preston?
Lord, please keep Preston safe.
* * *
Preston watched in horror as Holly sank to the ground. She’d been hit. It looked like a flesh wound. But still. He was there to keep her safe, and he’d failed.
With renewed strength, Preston pulled away from the door to ram his whole body back harder. The gun knocked against the wall. He’d caught the shooter’s arm. Good. Now the man couldn’t aim anymore. To keep him there, Preston would have to wait for police to arrive, and he’d be caught as well, but at least Holly would be safe from whoever was trying to kill her.
Oh, God, don’t let this guy get away.
Sirens rang in the distance. About time.
The gun thrashed in the shooter’s hand as the man realized he was about to be caught. Preston pressed harder to keep the owner pinned in place.
The hand stilled. Was he giving up?
The door arched, sending Preston stumbling away. He reestablished his balance and charged back into position. The door slammed tightly into the doorframe. He’d given the man enough time to pull his arm out.
Preston’s heart constricted. Not only had he let Holly get shot, but he’d let the shooter escape. He held his position until footsteps crunched over broken glass on their way out the front door. Then he lowered himself next to Holly and brushed a wisp of pale hair off her clammy forehead.
Sirens grew louder. Tires screeched. She’d be in good hands. Though the shooter had gotten away. Unless he chased the man down himself. Preston probably knew the area better than police.
“I’m sorry, Holly,” he apologized quietly before sprinting out the door.
* * *
Darkness. Heaviness. Throbbing. Voices.
Holly opened her eyes. She was alive. In the computer room and surrounded by emergency workers. Where was Preston?
Her heart lurched. She used her good arm to press herself to a seated position and scanned the room. “Where is he?”
An EMT pushed her chest back toward the floor. She twisted out of his grip.
Officer Shaw strode over. “He got away for now, Miss Fontaine, but we’ll find him.”
They’d find Preston? Oh no. The policeman was talking about the shooter. Preston must have escaped before police arrived. He was okay.
She sank to the floor. Thank You, Jesus.
“Hold still, ma’am. I need to clean your wound.” The EMT adjusted her arm with gloved hands and dabbed at the gash with some kind of cold liquid.
Holly gritted her teeth as the stinging increased. At least it looked better than it felt.
Shaw focused on her. “Glad you survived another attack. That was some quick thinking, using the internet to call for help.”
Holly closed her eyes. She wouldn’t have survived if