Page 9 of Hidden Ascent

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It was only a few seconds before she blinked her eyes open and felt her fingers being forcibly wrapped around something.

She looked as a masked man lifted her arm, bending it at the elbow so that the gun in her hand was pointed at her head.

“No!” She struggled in her weakened state to free her arm but could only change the angle enough that the shot embedded in the floor beside her head. The second time that night.

He tried again, but she’d gained back more of her strength and was able to buck out from under his weight and rip from his grasp.

He jumped to his feet, and she raised the gun, firing as he dove from the room. She was sure she hit him. But it wasn’t a kill shot.

She pushed up to her feet and lunged for the door, but her head spun, sending her crashing into the wall.

After sliding to the floor, she pushed up on her hands and knees, shaking the fuzziness from her head. Nausea pushed into her throat, and she swallowed it back, taking in deep breaths to recover enough so she could stand.

When she tried again, she was able to remain on her feet, but she had to move slowly. Her head was still in a spin. She used the wall to push her way into the hall, scanning for any sign of where the intruder had gone.

She could find no sign of blood, and when she heard the sirens of the approaching ambulance, she went back to Ian and crouched down beside him, searching his pockets.

“Come on, Ian. Tell me who you were answering to.”

His pockets were empty, so she went to his desk but couldn’t find anything useful.

Blood from her head injury dripped onto a piece of paper on the desk. She rubbed at it without thinking, smearing it across the page, then growled as she crumpled it up and hurled it at the garbage bin. It bounced off and landed on the floor.

She stared at it, then pressed her hands into the top of the desk, closing her eyes to steady herself.

When the paramedics knocked on the front door, she tucked her shirt in as she went to answer it.

“He’s dead,” she said when she opened the door.

“Are you the one who called it in?” one of them said.

“Yeah. There was an intruder in the house. Ian didn’t make it.”

The two paramedics looked at each other. “We weren’t told this was a hostile environment. We need to wait for the police.”

“He’s gone.”

“You sure?”

“It’s safe. But you can wait outside anyway.”

“We’ll check on the patient—”

“I told you, he’s dead.” She wouldn’t let them pass.

“But we still need to assess him. And you’ll need to stay and speak with the police when they arrive.”

“I’m an agent with the DEA. I know the drill.”

“Do you have ID?”

She showed them.

“Is this a federal matter?”

“The dead man in there is supervising special agent Ian Fogarty. And I won’t compromise the crime scene by letting you through.”

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