Page 55 of Stella's Christmas Rescue
“I want to live, Jordan.”
He says, “Lock the door behind me and don’t open it for anyone but me. I’ll be back as soon as I can be.”
I grab his collar and pull him to me, then kiss him. “Promise me you’ll come back.”
“I promise,” he kisses me again.
I release him. Just before he’s out the door, I blurt, “I love you, too!”
“Don’t do that now, Stella.”
“What?”
“You’re just saying it now because you think one or both of us might die. That’s not romantic. That’s sad.”
I shake my head and tell him, “I’m saying it now, because I do.”
He smiles, “Well, then I better hurry up and kick his ass, so you can say it to me again.” Then, he runs out the door.
I lock it up and watch the panic from above. Jordan’s camo coat ironically stands out from the snow and the street. Most of the other people have run into the grocery store. The parking lot is cleared out, with the exception of the firefighters and Alex. Itlooks like they’ve got his leg wrapped up. God, there’s so much blood around him. But he’s talking to them and laughing. Must be a firefighter thing.
Then they drag him inside the store. No more gunshots. Thank God. There’s more movement in my periphery. Jordan worms his way between the trucks and across the street. Whoever is shooting either doesn’t think he’s a threat or hasn’t noticed him.
Or maybe they’re on their way here, since they saw us cross the street to the firehouse together. Oh damn.
And I can’t call anyone. My cell phone is in my coat. Which I left for Alex’s pillow. That he left behind in the parking lot.
I search the desk and tables for weapons and find all sorts of tools of their trade, including a three-inch rescue knife that has a seatbelt cutter on the back of it. I wouldn’t have known what it was, except my grandfather gave me something similar, when he found out I’d have to go over the Silliman Evans bridge every day for work. He was worried I’d get into an accident, go over the side, and end up in the water, trapped in my car. Alex advised him on the knife. I guess Firefighters think alike. I pocket it and keep looking.
There’s multitools, flashlights, and PPE, but no guns. Damn. I’d feel better with a gun. Even though Jordan says I’m better with a knife, there’s something about a gun that makes me feel safer.
A two—way radio crackles nearby. Thank God. I pick it up and press the buttons. “Hello? Hello? Can anyone hear me?” I release the button and wait.
A man with some sort of an accent asks, “This the redhaired girl? Over.”
“Yes, who are you?”
“I’m Michael, I’m with your brother Alex inside Bailey’s. Over.”
“Is he alright?”
“He’ll be fine,” then a garbled sound comes through.
“Hey, Stella, where are you?” Alex asks.
His voice floods my brain with relief. “Oh my God, it’s good to hear your voice.”
“Yeah, you too. Where’d you go?”
“I’m in the firehouse. Is everyone okay in the store?”
“Everyone but me, I think.”
Michael says in the background, “You’re not saying ‘over’.”
“She doesn’t know about ‘over’.”
I wait until they’re done, then tell them, “Guys, can you see Jordan? Over.”
