Page 26 of Disarming Caine

She was on hands and knees, and her head snapped up, long hair streaming about her. Her head swiveled back and forth, impassive eyes touching every surface, and one hand pressed me down as though to use me as leverage to get up. She checked her watch.

I reached for her, to pull her closer to the floor and safety, ensuring I was between her and the balcony door, where the shot had come from. “Were you hit? Are you—”

Another peal rang through the room, as the balcony door exploded inward and a wave of frigid air hit us.

With it, daggers shredded across my back. I clamped my eyes shut, biting back the pain. Not a direct hit of a bullet, but a searing sensation spreading out from my right shoulder. Something had struck me. Possibly glass.

But I was fine.Focus on Samantha.

I pulled her closer, shielding her.

She pushed me away from her and pointed to the bedroom we’d been aiming for. “Keep your head down! Go that way!”

As I rose, she pressed on my head to keep it lower and encourage me forward. I grabbed her arm and propelled her ahead of me, crouching over her as we dashed to safety.

We landed behind the bed, and she asked, “Do you have your phone?”

I winced, contact with the bed slicing into my back. “In my jacket.”

“Dammit, mine’s in my purse.” She grabbed a laptop from the bedside table.

“Why the laptop?”

“Only option for 9-1-1 we have.”

The bedroom’s window was far smaller than the balcony door, plus the bed provided significantly more cover. We were safe here. I sealed my eyes shut, breathing through the agony in my back, while she typed furiously on the keyboard.

I cracked an eye open to see the laptop screen. Two direct message windows, one with her friend Janelle and the other with a man named Jimmy. Both included her address, an urgent request for officers, and advising them shots had been fired.

One reply from Janelle,Dispatching officers. Hold tight.

Samantha just finished typing.Shots originated south side of building. Came through 3rd floor balcony door at chest height. Hit ceiling 15 feet inside. Shooter’s at ground level.

How many shooters?was the response.

Samantha dropped the laptop and crawled into the adjoining bathroom.

“What are you doing?”

She darted up to grab the vanity mirror and snapped it off its extending arm. Staying low, she dashed toward the window.

“You are not—” I rolled to my side and grabbed her leg, bringing her to a skidding halt and she hit the floor. Pain exploded up my arm, through my head, and a wave of nausea overcame me.

“Let me do my job,” she hissed and kicked out of my grasp, back up on her feet and at the window before my brain cleared.

“This is not your job, Samantha!” I ground out.

“The best chance the police have is accurate intel.”

Another gunshot burst through the balcony doors, the thud of it hitting the ceiling just loud enough for me to hear over the blood pounding in my ears.

Samantha rose next to the window, flat against the wall, and angled the mirror to see out. “The hotel backs onto a wooded trail by a stream. Kids drink down there sometimes and do stupid shit.”

I’d seen glimpses of this side of her, the side passionate about chasing down thieves, but this was different. Someone was shooting at us and she was trying to get closer, not further away.

“This is not stupid kids.” Dampness spread across my back, hopefully sweat, but likely blood. I pushed through it and crawled to her feet, reaching for a hand. “This recklessness almost got you killed in Napoli.”

She swatted in my direction, focused on the mirror. “Gimme a minute.”

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