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       16

      CHRISTIE FROZE, terror swallowing her whole. He was here. In her house. Afraid to move at all, she did shift her head enough that she could see the end of the hallway. All she could make out was a dark shape, nothing clear, and not enough to figure out who he was.

      “All right,” Boone said, in the voice he used to calm her down. “Just cool it. I’m putting down the gun.”

      How could this bastard tell that Boone had a gun? Night vision, like in the cameras. Shit, he could see them, but they couldn’t see him. And how had he gotten in?

      “Slowly,” the bastard said. “Try anything tricky and I’ll kill you.”

      “All right.”

      Christie heard a thump as Boone’s gun hit the carpet. Now that she’d heard the voice a second time, there was something familiar about it, but she couldn’t connect it to anyone she knew.

      “Now get up. Both of you.”

      Boone squeezed her hand quickly, then started to rise to his knees. She knew the bastard meant business, but she couldn’t move. If she kept breathing like she was, she was going to hyperventilate again, and God knows what he’d do to Boone. She longed for her baseball bat, but she had no idea where that was. The gun in her waistband should have been a comfort but she couldn’t figure out how to get it out and aim and shoot when she couldn’t even see him.

      “You, too, Christie. On your feet.”

      “Why are you doing this?” she asked, ashamed at how her voice trembled.

      “Just get up.”

      She tried to move—honestly, she did—but her legs were stiff and the pressure on her chest was too heavy. Bracing herself on the mattress, she pushed herself up and then she remembered the flashlight.

      How could she get it when her heart was beating so hard she could feel it in her toes? She wanted to be brave, to save the day, to be Sigourney Weaver facing the alien. But she couldn’t even get her hand to move to the side of the mattress.

      It was right there.

      “You want me to shoot him? Is that what you want, Christie?”

      “No,” she said. “I’m just scared, okay? So it’s hard.”

      “Scared? You don’t know scared.”

      Boone got to his feet, keeping his hands in the air. “I’m going to help her, okay? One hand down.”

      “No. She can do it herself.”

      It sounded as if he were closer. He’d moved a couple of feet, she thought. More in the living room than in the hall. She took a deep breath, and as she let it out, she moved her left hand those few inches beside the mattress. Her fingers touched the cold metal of the flashlight, and she gripped it so tightly she could feel the switch dig into her skin.

      “You,” the bastard said. “Move away. Get off the mattress.”

      “Sure,” Boone said. “Whatever you say.”

      The bastard laughed. “You think that’s going to work on me? You moron. I’ve seen it all. Everything. You think you found all the cameras?”

      “No, I’m sure we didn’t.”

      “Just shut up. I don’t want to hear another word from you. Christie, stop stalling. Do it.”

      Boone was now farther away from her, but she could at least see him in the hazy light coming through her curtains. It was more difficult to see where the bastard was, as the hallway was so far from the window. There was nothing to do but try. It would have to be quick and sure, and she was neither.

      But Boone was counting on her. There was no doubt in her mind that the bastard would shoot to kill.

      She pulled her legs under her, balanced on her right hand. The flashlight was under the edge of the blanket, so she knew the bastard couldn’t see it.

      “What do you want from her?” Boone asked.

      “What did I say? Did I tell you to shut up?” The bastard’s voice had risen to a shout.

      “What did she do to you?”

      “Boone,” she said, “shut up.”

      “I just—”

      “Shut up,” she said, louder this time. Everything would be over if the bastard turned away. She had to keep him looking at her, watching her. “I know what he wants. And I’m going to give it to him.”

      The bastard laughed, and the sound made her sick to her stomach. It was as if all his twisted desires were right there in that low laugh.

      She held her breath as she got to her feet, holding the flashlight by her side, making sure her finger was on the switch. “Tell me what you want,” she said, needing his voice to get her bearings. “I’ll do whatever you say.”

      “I know you will. You’ll do every single—”

      She turned on the switch at the same time she pointed the light straight at his voice.

      He yelped, and then she heard a crash. Boone was on him, and they were both on the floor, the bastard’s gun glinting in the beam.

      “Your gun,” Boone screamed, and then he took a blow that knocked him to the side.

      She ripped at her T-shirt and got the Glock. She was holding the flashlight and she didn’t want to drop it, but she’d never fired the gun with one hand.

      The two men were still on the floor and she’d never been so scared in her whole life. If that prick hurt Boone, she’d kill him a hundred times.

      Their grunts and punches sounded flat and unreal. If she could just get the gun over to Boone, it would all be okay. She tried to steady the light, but when she did, she saw that the bastard was hitting Boone with the butt of his weapon, and Boone was bleeding badly. He punched the son of a bitch, but it only stopped the fight for a moment. The gun came up again, smashing against Boone’s temple.

      She couldn’t aim the gun, not when she was shaking so hard. Boone’s words came back to her, telling her what to do.

      She climbed over the mattress and didn’t let herself think, she just went to where he was bashing Boone with the gun and she had to stop him, right now. She threw the flashlight down, held her gun with both hands and pushed it into the bastard’s side, right there, right where he was lifting his arm to hit Boone again, and then she closed her eyes and pulled the trigger.

      Nothing happened.

      It was the safety. She cursed and slipped the safety off, but then her legs were knocked from under her and she fell so hard her head bounced off the carpet and she couldn’t see or feel anything but pain.

      The gun, her gun, was ripped out of her hands, and she curled up into a ball waiting to feel the bullet rip through her body. The sound of the gunshot made her scream and she jerked, but she didn’t feel anything except the pain in her head. All she could think was that Boone had to be okay. He had to or she would die.

      “Christie.”

      Hands on her shoulder, shaking her and she couldn’t open her eyes or stop the scream that was building in her throat.

      “Christie, I’ve got you.”

      She gasped as she opened her eyes. It was Boone, standing above her, swaying back and forth.

      He lurched away to the hall, and the light blinded her painfully. When she looked up again, Boone was leaning against the wall, his face bloody, his right eye swollen. Her gun was in his hand, and dripping.

      She struggled up and went to him, needing to make sure he was really there, that they were both

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