Page 27 of Disarming Caine

Another loud crack and a dull thump behind Samantha. This one was not in the living room. It was on the other side of the wall from her.

One more crack and the bedroom window shattered, the mirror flying out of her hand.

She yelped, and with the distraction, I was able to yank her to the floor. Another bullet flew into the bedroom, the whizzing noise sending a fresh wave of panic through me. She was not getting away from me this time.

I pushed her toward the bathroom and snatched the laptop so she wouldn’t come back for it. As firm as possible, I said, “Now stay down!”

She didn’t argue, just grabbed the laptop and typed out a message to Janelle.I only see one shooter. In the woods, by the trail behind the building. Far end.

Another gunshot. Screams from inside the hotel almost drowned out the sound of the bullet impacting the ceiling in the bedroom.

Samantha checked her watch. “Goddamnit! It’s only been five fucking minutes!”

I landed against the wall, fire licking through my back, but I grit my teeth against it and pulled her onto my lap. Two walls, a bed, and my body between her and the shooter. She tried to escape; to take the laptop, to check the window again, who knew?

“Stop fighting me,” I whispered, and pressed my lips to the top of her head. “I won’t let you go, bella.”

Her body gradually eased, and her face dug into my neck, letting me wrap my arms more fully around her. We huddled together for what felt like half an hour, until the sirens approached.

The laptop pinged.

I woke the screen and read the message. “Janelle says the police are here and she wants to know when the last shot was.”

Samantha made a move as if to push away from me, but I had her with my better arm, and she wouldn’t escape. “Tell her 6:32. What time is it now?”

“6:42.”

I typed the response, not letting her head go. Another message appeared. “She says Jimmy’s with them and she’ll be here as soon as she can.”

Was she right about it being drunk kids down on the trail? Surely not. One or two random gunshots or even a peppering all at once would make sense for that, but not the slow and intentional aim from one window to the next as we switched rooms.

A crew of thieves had threatened Samantha’s life when she was in Napoli with me. One of them had put his hands on her and paid the price. A man working for my cousin Cristian—the one who'd saved her life—assured me the thieves were not an ongoing issue, but was he wrong?

Visions of the apartment in Napoli swallowed me. Walking in to see her gashed forehead, the beaten man on the floor, blood covering so many surfaces. The way she could barely stand the next day. At least this time, I was here to protect her. “Everything will be alright, bella. I’m here.”

Her body grew soft and her hands slid against my chest. Nestling closer, she let out a ragged whisper, “Good.”

I kissed the top of her head and leaned into her. The way she said it that time, full of gratitude and peace, relief and comfort. PerhapsGoodhad meantI love youall along.

The screams and yells in the other rooms continued, doors opening and closing, people knocking to check on others. Hurrying feet in the hallway. While Samantha and I just breathed together, our hearts trying to find each other's rhythms.

We startled when fists pounded on her door. “Brenton PD! Sammy, it’s Jimmy! Everything’s clear! Open up!”

Rushing to the door, we straightened our clothes as best we could. She smoothed her skirt, I buckled my pants, and we searched for her torn shirt. I threw mine over her in the rush, and she did one strategic button.

The pounding came again. “Sammy! Answer me, or we’re coming in whatever way we can!”

“I’m here, Jimmy!” She swung the door open.

The officer’s gun was out of its holster before I could blink, trained on me. “Who’s this?”

“My boyfriend,” said Samantha, hands raised. “He’s not a threat.”

Jimmy assessed the scene, glancing from me to Samantha and sweeping every surface. Apparently finding no immediate risk, he holstered his sidearm as quickly as he’d drawn it and sauntered into the room. “That explains a lot.”

“Explains what?” I narrowed my eyes, the light from the hallway exceedingly bright after the dark bathroom.

He was a couple of inches shorter than me, a lanky man who likely looked imposing only because of his vest and duty belt, which provided an illusion of breadth and size.

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