As Shelley shuts the door and locks it, I wrap my arms around my shaking body. Next to me, John and Diana cuddle with their dogs. I wonder about the cat and Mona. At the control panel, Shelley looks at monitors while speaking to someone on the emergency phone.
"We're safe in the panic room," she says. "Our housekeeper is in the downstairs panic room. We're safe, but I hear gunshots."
"It'll be okay," Diana whispers to me.
John wraps me tightly in his little arms. "Don't cry, Aunt Darla."
The medicines leave me numb and unable to feel my tears. Locke will never let me go. He'd rather destroy me than know I exist without him. In his desperation to destroy me, he'll hurt everyone I love.
"I shouldn't have run," I whisper, but the children don't understand.
Shelley does, and I see the pain in her eyes. Unable to be negative, she focuses on the monitors and helps the arriving police. I hear her say Joe and Dan are on the ground. She tells the police where the gunman is in the house. She warns them when he's ready to fire on them. Her help gives the police the upper hand, and the gunman ends up dead.
Ex-policeman Joe is dead while an injured Dan goes to the hospital. I hear of their suffering and see the fear in the eyes of my family. Through it all, I wish I hadn't run.
3
~~~
Troy
Hunting the Soulless
The Ramsey Security offices are located in a rough part of Houston where the police are scarce, and the best form of protection is through the local gang. Other firms want downtown high-rises, so they'll be seen. We have no interest in anyone knowing what we do inside the former factory turned expansive business center.
Rafael Ramsey is the face of the company. Like the rest of the staff, he's a retired assassin. Now we provide security to rich clients in need of professionals willing to get dirty.
I joined the company because my partner Minka wanted more in life than killing assholes. She was looking to retire, so I followed her to Houston. Three months after we arrive, the Ramsey offices are more secure than the local police station. In fact, we possess an arsenal that would make the National Guard envious.
So far, our jobs had been small fry crap like protecting weddings from jilted ex-lovers and playing referee during volatile divorce hearings. I'd gone from being a contractor known to hunt dangerous people all over the globe to the guy playing usher at a rich bitch's gaudy wedding.
Into the world of retired assassins and gangbanger guard dogs walks a man with a weak bladder. Vernon Young is a twitchy turd with a big bank account to make up for his tiny balls. He flinches when our receptionist Tia offers him coffee. He shrinks away from Minka when she gestures for him to follow her into a back office. I'll give him the last one since Minka is pretty terrifying before noon.
"How did that guy marry a swimsuit model?" Saskia asks from beside me.
Standing outside the windowed room where Vernon waits, I glance down at the red-headed Ukrainian killer at my side.
"She probably isn't as shallow as you," I mutter.
Saskia smiles brightly. "Have you seen pictures of his wife? She didn't marry for love, let's just admit that much."
I have seen photos of the Birmingham/Young family. Darla Birmingham's escape from a rich pervert was all over the news for weeks. The entire story died down after one of the Kardashians did something very Kardashian.
Now Darla Birmingham is again the first story on the evening news. That morning, I saw a reporter interviewing the family of the dead, retired cop. Through the entire interview, they flash photos of Darla Birmingham. Hot blondes sell everything from hamburgers to cars, so why not the network news?
"Got the info," Rafael says, walking past Saskia and me before entering the room where Vernon fidgets.
Rafael is a racially mixed man the size of a Mack truck. He owns any room he enters, but I've also seen him disappear into a crowd when the need suited him. The guy was a master assassin. Now he's making nice with fidgety nerds like Vernon.
We follow Rafael inside where he does the introductions. Once the formalities are over, we stand at the wall while he tries to settle down Vernon.
"The cops aren't sharing," Rafael says, "but we received confirmation on the identity of the man who entered your home last night. Zivkovic is a Serbian shooter. A freelancer too, meaning it'll be nearly impossible to tie him back to Locke."
"So there's nothing to be done?" Vernon asks, checking his phone before realizing he shouldn't check his phone with so many eyes on him.
"Mister Young, if you retain our services, I assure you we have several avenues to follow. Clearly, we'll provide onsite security for your sister-in-law and family. Additionally, we'll follow any leads not only from the Serbian shooter but those discovered by the police."
"The man who died was a police officer at my house. They still killed him."
"Laws don't mean much to the people you're dealing with, Mister Young. This creates a problem for law enforcement that needs to follow the rules. We aren't hampered in the same way."