The beats of the old-fashioned grandfather clock in the corner sounded as ominous as the ticking of a time bomb. She pulled in a fortifying breath. There was nothing to be afraid of. No doubt a passerby had seen the lights on and assumed the library was open. Unfortunately this must be a rather rude passerby who didn’t feel obliged to announce his presence or apologize for startling them.
She took a step forward. Charlie reached out, grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her to the ground. Her knees cracked against the hardwood floor, and he crouched on top of her, covering her mouth with his hand and her body with his body.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” she hissed through his fingers.
He tightened his grip on her and touched his cheek to hers. Her heart did a disconcerting little flip-flop, and she stopped struggling.
Charlie was not the enemy.
But he seemed to think they had one here with them in the library, and the hairs on the back of her neck were currently siding with Charlie.
Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.
Heavy footfalls on hardwood.
From her vantage point, peering out from under the reading desk, she spotted a pair of boots. Gooseflesh rose on her arms. These boots were downright predatory—made of hand-tooled black leather shafts and hornback alligator vamps. Light reflected off the silver horns of the hide. She shuddered. She couldn’t be more creeped out if the deadly reptile itself was crawling about the room.
Click.
What was that? Her body started to tremble, and Charlie shifted his weight.
He whispered something that sounded like stay down into her hair. But she knew it wouldn’t matter, because the old hickory reading desk they were hiding behind couldn’t stop a bullet.
A bullet.
Her heart pounded against her ribs—magnifying her pulses everywhere in her body. Her ears, her wrists, even her elbows buzzed with a terrifying rhythm.
And then an earsplitting crack rang out. She smelled gunpowder and saw the shattered pieces of wood where the bullet had blasted right through the desk, blasted right past Charlie and her. She reached up and touched her face and felt something wet.
Tears.
She tried to scream but her vocal cords were paralyzed. Charlie whispered something again, but she couldn’t decipher his words at all—it sounded like a tuning fork was humming in her ear.
She watched in stunned horror as Charlie reared up and waved his arms in the air.
“No!” She found her voice. And then her mind seemed to disconnect from her body. Her brain locked into safe mode—that place where time slows down and fear enhances the ability to plan and act.
Charlie darted across the room, and his words floated behind him in slow motion, “Over…here…ass…hole.” He hit the opposite wall running, and made it to the library entrance. He dove to the ground, using his arm to swipe the light switches on his way down.
Darkness enveloped the library, and she knew this was her chance. Charlie had risked his life to buy her this chance, and she’d better act quickly.
Flipping the shoulder bag onto her back and out of the way, she inched across the floor on her belly. Her shirt climbed her chest, and the floor felt cold and splintery against her skin. Her pupils hadn’t accommodated to the darkness yet, but once they did, she knew she would be able to see again—and so would Boots.
For the time being, she couldn’t see either Charlie or Boots or even two feet in front of her. She prayed Charlie had made it outside. He was so close to the doorway. Surely Charlie had made it to safety. Her chest heaved in momentary relief.
Crack.
Another shot split through the cotton in her ears. Desperate, she kept moving, scraping her body across the floor with one goal in mind. She might not be able to see her way, but she knew this library well. She put her hand out and patted a tall cabinet—the card catalogue—it served to map her route. Right around the corner and then another few feet. She needed to make it that far if she was going to get out of here alive.
The lights flared back on.
Boots.
She jerked her head up, searching the room for Charlie, praying she wouldn’t find him.
She found the enemy instead. His feet were planted no more than a yard away, toes of the alligator pointing toward her. Her gaze climbed the silver, horned vamps, up the black shafts with the inlaid star of Texas. Her throat closed as she forced herself to keep going. She saw a baggy pair of stonewashed jeans, black jacket, ski mask.
Gun.
A crash sounded on the other side of the room.
Boots whirled and fired a flurry of shots at the noise—too many and too fast to count.
Her heart seemed to split in her chest when she saw Charlie pop up and swipe the lights off again.
Charlie.
She should have stayed the night.
Under cover of darkness again, she refocused on her goal, kept dragging her body forward, arms shaking from the stress of her combat crawl. When her palms started to itch, she knew she’d reached her target. With her back pressed against the wall, she inched up, up, up. She felt around with the palm of her hand until she found the cold metal handle she sought.
The lights flared on.
Boots raised one arm and pointed his pistol directly at her. Her heart stopped. She felt the sudden absence of its beat like a blow to the chest. A gloved hand jerked, but she heard no thunder, saw no flash.