Page 2 of Point of Contact

"It’s set." The newly arrived masked man grabbed his friend by the arm when he didn't move fast enough, dragging him toward the back of the house her father bought her to shut her up. A house that had become both a home and a prison.

And, if she didn’t figure something out soon, maybe a tomb.

Her fingers moved faster, sweeping the smooth underside of the table for what she knew was there. She'd put it there herself. The same way she'd done in every other available spot, tucking away everything she could, knowing this day was coming.

And knowing she would likely face it alone.

Her fingers finally brushed against the cool metal she was seeking, but it was just far enough away she would have to shift her body to reach it. The move would give her away. Alert her captors to the fact that she might not be as restrained as they believed.

But it had to be done. All she could do was hope she was faster than they were.

And she'd worked hard to be fast. Both on her feet and on the draw.

Just as she leaned, both men turned away, putting their backs to her and offering the opportunity she needed. The handgun was in her palm in a split second, safety switched off, ready to offer her the assistance no one else would.

But the men didn't turn around. They didn't point their own guns at her, intent on taking out Vasquez’s ‘pride and joy’. It was almost laughable. If only they knew how little her father actually cared what happened to her, they wouldn't be wasting their time here.

And it almost looked like they weren't. The men disappeared down the hall, footsteps fast as they raced through her kitchen, door slamming as they ran out the back. Leaving her alone.

And, like her earlier gratefulness for being found lacking, finally being alone was a relief for the first time.

Right up until she heard an odd sound.

Courtney twisted in her chair, bringing both hands to the front of her body so she could tenderly inspect her injured thumb as she tried to determine if the sound was coming from behind her or in front of her. It might have been both.

She stood up just as it stopped. What in the world had it been?

Unfortunately, that odd sound was replaced by a much louder, more identifiable sound.

The explosion was sudden and unexpected, making the floor under her feet vibrate.

Shit. They’d set something off in her basement.

The smell of smoke followed the blast almost immediately, sending her racing for the front door, flying through the large, two-story foyer to grab the handle. She flipped the locks free and yanked, but it wouldn't budge. Her eyes dipped to the cut glass window slicing through the solid panel. A set of linear shadows dimmed the outside light, banding across her path to safety.

Holy shit. That sound was a drill. They’d barricaded her in.

That’s why they hadn't bothered shooting her. They planned for her to die another way. One more painful and slow than a quick bullet to the brain.

Pricks.

She turned and ran through the house, cutting across the formal dining room and into the Butler's pantry that led to the kitchen, even though she knew what she would find there. The back door was secured exactly like the front. Screwed in place by heavy chunks of lumber she could easily see through the clear glass of the back entrance.

"Fuck." Another rumble rattled the entire structure, signaling a second explosion that sent smoke billowing up through the open basement door and creeping from the vents.

She had to get out of there and she had to do it fast. There was no telling what else was in the basement. And as her captors clearly didn't plan on her making it out alive, she had to believe there was more.

Backing across the room as far as she could, Courtney raised the gun in her hand and aimed it at the large bank of windows overlooking the inground pool that took up most of her suburban backyard. She emptied the clip, holding her breath with every squeeze of the trigger, expecting each one to send a bullet ricocheting back at her as the thickening smoke made her eyes water.

By some miracle, not a single one came back to take her out and her aim stayed true despite the tears streaming from her eyes. She dropped the gun, now empty and useless, and raced across the kitchen. Grabbing one of the heavy chairs from the table, she used every bit of strength she had to slam it into the hole her bullets started. She’d built this house to be as safe as possible. To protect her when no one else would. But right now that was coming back to bite her like so many other things had.

The impact of the chair sent more fractures spider webbing across the surface of the giant window, so she hit it again. And again.

And again.

By the time there was a hole large enough for her to escape through, she could barely see and had given up on trying to breathe. She shoved the table as close as she could get it before climbing onto the surface and jumping through the jagged edged opening. Her body slammed into the patio harder than she expected, knocking any remaining oxygen from her lungs.

Another explosion, this one substantial enough to shake even the ground beneath her, sent her rolling away, trying to put as much distance between herself and the house as possible. In the confusion and chaos, she forgot about her pool, and rolled right over the edge, dropping into the water.

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