Page 57 of Stella's Christmas Rescue
Maybe.
I hear my footfalls between my old commander’s rules. I’m running in plain view of the shooter and it goes against everything in me to do it but stopping is not an option. God, Briggs would cringe, if he saw this. I assume the shooter is on top of the old country store. It’s the tallest building on Main Street,so as hide sites go, that would be where I’d set up. But for a more concealed position, I’d pick the courthouse. Smaller windows, so it’d be harder to see me. Problem is, it’s further away on Main Street. I decide to hit the country store roof first. Work the closest problem first, or as Briggs put it, “Clear the near.”
Whichever location it is, I haven’t heard more gunshots since I got her inside the firehouse. I hope that means he got bored and left, but I am not that naive. I can’t let it mean that he’s tracking Stella down right now. I can’t let myself think he might have already gotten to her. That can’t be it, because if that’s why he stopped shooting…If I’m him, I’m probably reloading, then realizing everyone ran inside. Reloading and running is a lot harder than it looks, so I’m not doing both at the same time. Which means, if I’m lucky, the shooter is still in place.
I need to be lucky today.
The store is closed for the holiday, so I use the butt of the gun to smash through the glass, then open the door. I run between the Christmas displays and even though I try not to cause more damage, I crash through there. There are stairs in the back. I help them set up the lighting on the roof for their monthly concerts. I keep the light off and run up the steps as fast as I can. Then I hear something crash behind me, so I freeze to listen harder.
There is someone inside the store.
I open the door at the top of the steps and close it, with me still on the stairs. I want the shooter behind me to think I’m out the door. I make my footfalls as silent as possible, while I make my way back down. My shotgun is on my shoulder, at the ready. My muscles tense up and I take a quick breath to loosen them. The shooter bumps a table, then curses in Russian. Michael emerges at the bottom of the stairwell, handgun drawn. “Jordan?”
“Jesus, Michael, I almost shot you.”
“Bad guy up those stairs?”
“Possibly. What’re you doing here?”
He tips his head, “I’m here to help, dumbass, why else would I be here?”
“Go back and watch Stella.”
“I’m not a babysitter, Jordan. Let’s go.”
“There’s no time to argue!”
“Then don’t argue!”
I huff. “Fine. Follow me.” We run up the stairs and I crack the door. No gunshot. I open it further and still no assault. I stick the muzzle of the gun out of the door, and there’s no response. I quietly tell him, “You can wait in here.”
“You can go to hell,” he quietly responds.
I let myself have a laugh, before I rush out the door. There’s no one else on the roof. “Shit. We should go to the?—"
A gunshot echoes. A bullet pings on the rooftop nearby.
I shove him back through the door so he’s out of the line of fire, but he loses his footing and falls down the stairs. “Michael!” I run down the stairs after him.
Michael is folded up at the bottom of the stairs. He curses in Russian, as he tries to get back on his feet. He ends up on one knee and grasping at a table. He groans, “Go, get that bastard!”
“You okay?”
“Da, go!”
I run across the street to the courthouse, and another shot whizzes past me. A quick glance tells me he’s on the second floor, near the southeast corner. When I get to the front door, it’s locked. The door is solid wood. It has no window to break and let myself in. I have to take the window next to it, then crawl inside.
This office is small, so I’m in the hallway in a jiffy. There’s eighties rock music playing—an old tactic to hide sounds. He’s telling me who he is. Probably someone who has been in thegame for a long time. Or was trained by someone who was. Either way, they know what they’re doing.
An expert. Riker has gotten serious about killing Stella.
I take a deep breath and run up the stairs toward the music. It’s so loud that I can hardly think. I keep my shotgun at the ready on my shoulder, while I clear rooms. If I can’t hear him, then he can’t hear me, so I don’t have to worry about being quiet. Finally, I get to the southeast corner.
This time, though, I move slowly to take my surroundings in. I need as much advantage as I can get. I crack the door open, and I don’t see him. There’s a rifle set up at the window. The room also contains a chair, a lamp-topped table, and a bookshelf. “Nowhere to hide,” I realize just before I’m bashed on the back of my head.
I fall forward onto my hands and knees, dizzy from the impact. My shotgun slides across the floor. I get to my feet and find myself face to face with the shooter. The black balaclava hides the face, but the stealthy black clothes do nothing to hide her figure. I’m off my game for a second. I didn’t expect a woman.
She takes advantage of my surprise to kick me square in the chest. It knocks me back and I fall again, this time hitting my head on the floor. My bell is rung, and I wonder if I’ll get a chance to tell Stella I almost died because of sexism.
