Page 117 of One Last Stand

“No!” She launched herself at Tomas, but the snow, up to her knees, slowed her down.

“Listen. All you have to do is return what you took. Easy.”

As Shep hit the door frame, Tomas turned the gun on her. “I see you, big man. You take one step and she’s dead.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Shep right himself, the mountain he was.

“You’re a terrorist, Tomas,” she said. “Of course I’m not handing over the money!”

His mouth opened. Closed. “I’m a businessman.”

Then he turned to Shep, and just like that, pulled the trigger.

She screamed.

Shep fell back, hands to his body, blood saturating his abdomen.

She ran to him, but Tomas grabbed her arm, yanked her back, shoving her out into the snow.Stupid slippery sock?—

Shep.

Though he’d sagged against the cabin, he was still on his feet, and even as she watched, the man took two steps and launched himself at Tomas.

Big man, big tackle, and Tomas went down.

“London! Run!” Shep growled.

They rolled, and Tomas hit him in the gut with his elbow. A shout of pain, but Shep put an arm around Tomas’s neck. Held on.

Tomas slammed his fist into Shep’s head, then added the gun. Blood spurted from his wound, but still Shep held on. “Run!”

But the blood loss seemed to be loosening Shep’s grip.

And,sorry—she hadn’t trained for years under Ziggy to run away. Laney Steele didn’t run.

Tomas scooted out of his hold, danced up, and pointed his gun at Shep. “You’re in the way?—”

London jumped him. Despite being clad in her flimsy dress, in a soggy sock. She brought him down into the snow, her legs around his neck, then slammed her fist into his ear.

He roared, punched her in the ribs, and her breath shucked out. He wrestled free, rounded, and she barely blocked a right hook. She shoved her full palm into his jaw, snapping his head back. Brought her fist around for a punch in his side.

He stumbled back but grabbed her wrist, yanked her in.

And shoved his gun under her chin.

She slapped away his wrist with her left hand.

The gun went off, right beside her ear, hot on her face, the bullet missing her. But the sound had her ears ringing, the percussion jerking her away, spinning her head. She stumbled back.

And he pounced on her. Took her down, her face to the ground, gun to the base of her skull, her arm back—submission hold.

“Stop!”

She spotted Shep on his feet, his hands up. Blood saturated his shirt.

His voice, however, cut down to something calm and easy despite the finest edge of pain. “Don’t shoot, Tomas. Don’t shoot.”

“I just want the code.”

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