Page 108 of Protected By West
"Hit the alarm!"
Tracy pushed herself up off of the ground and saw Jaime and Becca lurching toward the customer service counter.
There were a number of panic buttons throughout the credit union. Some hidden in places where people wouldn't think tolook, but the ones under each teller station were the fastest to reach.
It was a noiseless alarm so there wasn't a loud blaring sound, but Tracy knew that the alarm had been pressed.
The other employees were doing what they'd been taught to do in a case like this.
The break room door was reinforced metal and the back office reserved for the teller supervisor was the same with bullet resistant glass.
Two doors closed out of her sight as the windshield of the Impala splintered from what sounded like an explosion.
Gunfire.
Tracy knew the sound.
She'd been to shooting ranges before, even before she'd met Weston.
She'd considered getting a concealed carry permit but hadn't gone through the whole process.
Something she was regretting at that very moment.
"Estes?"
Tracy reached out her hand and found Estes' leg. She gripped it and shook.
"Estes? Get up!"
A groan reached her ears first and Tracy back pedaled, putting herself between Estes and the man climbing out of the car through the busted windshield.
There wasn't anyone else in sight from her staff. That made her feel a measure of relief.
Their practices for an event like this had come in handy.
Skills that you hoped you'd never use but couldn't ignore the importance of.
"Fuckin' glass!"
Tracy felt blood dripping down her arm, but she didn't dare look down to see how bad it was.
She kept her gaze on the man sliding down the hood until his feet touched the floor.
"Where the fuck is this?"
Tracy saw the way he squinted his eyes and turned his head away from the lights.
He'd likely hit his head in the crash.
He looked around the room and when his gaze fell on her he smiled. "Looks like I landed our asses in the same kind of place we started our day just an hour ago. In a fucking bank."
She wanted to bite back at him, telling him this wasn't a bank, but that was just her own irritation.
She wasn't about to argue with a man holding a gun in his hand.
Especially when he moved closer to her and she saw the red in the whites of the eyes and the dark pupils that were almost to the edge of his irises. The man didn't seem to be feeling much of anything as he walked around the front of his car waving the business end of his gun in her direction.
"You talk? Or are you one of those dumb bitches that speaks with your hands?"
