Page 6 of Maliea's Hero

With her pulse banging through her veins, Maliea ran for Tish’s bedroom, shook her friend awake and whispered, “Call 911. Someone is breaking into my car, and Solange just drove up.”

Tish sat up, blinking sleep from her eyes. “Wait...what?”

Maliea didn’t have time to explain. “Call 911.” She spun and ran for the apartment door, unsure what she should do, but she couldn’t let the man breaking into her car hurt Solange.

As Maliea passed through Tish’s apartment, she searched for something to use as a weapon, settling on an umbrella leaning against the wall by the door. She snagged the curved handle, unlocked the door and ran out into the hallway, down the stairs and out into the parking lot, fired by rage burning inside. Deep down, she knew. This was the same person who’d ravaged her apartment.

“You might have destroyed my home,” she muttered, “but by damned, you’re not going to hurt my friend!”

CHAPTER 2

Solange had just pushed open the door to her vehicle when Maliea ran out into the parking lot, barefoot and wielding the umbrella like a baseball bat, screaming like a banshee.

Solange stared at her like she’d completely lost her mind.

“Solange,” Maliea yelled, “stay in your car!” She raced around her friend’s Jeep and the front of her four-door black sedan to the passenger side, ready to pound the attacker with the wooden handle of the umbrella.

The space between her car and the next was empty.

As Maliea started to bend to glance beneath her car, a hand snaked out, grabbed her ankle and yanked hard.

Maliea lost her balance and fell back against the next car, hitting her head hard as she crashed to the ground. The umbrella flew through the air and clattered against the pavement.

The hand on her ankle tightened, pulling her leg beneath the sedan’s chassis.

Her head spinning, Maliea fought to stay conscious. If this man killed her, he might go after Solange next. Maliea couldn’t let that happen. She had to hold on. Had to fight him until the police came.

Half aware and on the brink of passing out, Maliea cocked her free leg and kicked against the hand holding onto her ankle. She had to get free, find her umbrella and hit the bastard as hard as she could. Too stunned to realize how insane that sounded, she kicked again, her feeble attempts having little effect on the man’s grip.

The sound of a siren penetrated the black fog, threatening to pull Maliea under.

Hope swelled in her chest, even as the fog thickened.

The siren’s blare grew louder.

Maliea kicked again. Though her head throbbed, the gray haze of semiconsciousness began clearing with each passing second.

The grip on her ankle released. The shadowy figure beneath her car faded into the darkness.

“Maliea!” Solange’s voice called out.

Fighting through a massive headache, Maliea rolled over and pushed up onto her hands and knees.

“Maliea!” Solange rounded the front of the car, holding a tire iron over her head, ready to strike.

“Be careful,” Maliea said. “He was under my car.” She reached for the umbrella and poked at the darkness beneath her vehicle. “Need a goddamn flashlight.”

A small light blinked on over Maliea’s shoulder. Solange handed her a cell phone with the flashlight app on.

Maliea shined the light beneath her car. The man was gone. She pushed to her feet, swayed, braced her hand on the car next to her and looked around. Nothing moved. Not a single shadow moved among the other parked vehicles.

Moments later, flashing lights bounced off the brick buildings as a police car pulled into the parking lot and stopped close to Maliea and Solange. The officer leaped out, gun drawn, but remained behind the relative shield his door provided. “Hands in the air,” he called out.

Solange dropped the tire iron. It clattered against the pavement as she raised both hands into the air.

Maliea followed suit, letting go of the umbrella and raising her hands. The situation was so ridiculous, or she was teetering on the verge of hysteria, that she had the sudden urge to laugh. She’d been attacked, but the officer was holding a gun on her, not her attacker. How ironic was that?

“Officer,” Maliea called out, “We’re not the people breaking into my car. A man dressed in black with a black ski mask is the one you should be looking for before he gets away.”

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