Sherri Shackelford - Stolen Secrets

A dark-haired woman in a bright yellow shirt crouched near the front of the shop, her hands covering her ears. Another pop sounded, and glass rained over the woman’s head. She screamed and rocked back and forth.

Fight or flight. Fight or flight. Fight or flight.

The words echoed like a mantra through Lucy’s head. Her vision wavered.

Flight.

“Stay low,” Jordan shouted. “Get to the back of the store.”

“This way!” Lucy called to the woman in yellow. She gestured toward the service counter. She’d seen workers entering from the back on numerous occasions. “There’s an exit through the kitchen.”

The woman crawled a few feet, her movements jerky and uncoordinated.

The top pane of the front door burst into a thousand tiny shards. Lucy flattened her body and covered her head. Paralyzed by the terror pumping through her veins, her hands tingled.

“Please, God,” Lucy begged, “give me strength.”

In an attempt to contain her fear, she focused on the woman in yellow. “You’re doing great. Keep going. You’re almost there.”

Their eyes locked, and Lucy saw her own horror mirrored in the woman’s gaze. The reality of their situation nearly undid her, and she fought for control.

“Get to the exit!” Jordan shouted.

“What about you?”

“I’m right behind you.”

She peered cautiously from behind her shelter. He’d positioned himself at the front of the store, his gun drawn. Given Brandt’s praise of him, she had no doubt he’d sacrifice his life to prevent the shooter from coming through that door. He was offering himself as a shield to let them escape.

Another bullet ripped over her head, shattering a picture on the back wall. Lucy screamed. Tears blurred her vision. Though she was reluctant to leave Jordan behind, she didn’t want his sacrifice to be in vain. The woman in yellow had reached the relative safety of the service counter. She had a clear path to the exit.

As Lucy belly-crawled in her wake toward the kitchen, she encountered a man in a suit crouched behind the service counter. He jabbed at his phone, his hands trembling wildly. She navigated through the broken glass, her sweat-slicked palms hindering her progress.

“Go,” she ordered. “Run. Get out.”

A bullet blasted a hole in the back wall. Lucy yelped.

“I don’t want to die.” The man’s eyes were wild and unfocused. He gripped her arm in a painful vise, trapping her in place. “Don’t leave me.”

The stranger’s terror sparked a hidden reserve of strength within Lucy, and a precise sort of clarity took hold of her thoughts. Panicking only exacerbated the situation.

Prying the man’s fingers from her arm, she said, “Stay calm and exit the building.”

The words sounded trite considering the situation, but they worked. She touched his shoulder. The contact was like a spark of lightning, and the man jumped.

“Okay,” he said, then scrambled toward freedom.

His movement lifted the stark paralysis of the four remaining customers, who’d been rooted in place. It was as though someone had given them permission to act. In a crowded scramble, they dashed toward the exit. Lucy followed in an awkward, crouching run. Another shot burst through the menu hanging above the counter. She pivoted and twisted her ankle. The next step was agony and she dropped to her knees.

The hanging lamp above her head exploded, and a white-hot flash of pain burst through her cheek. With a startled shriek, she cringed and curled into a ball. Her fear was so sharp she tasted it on her tongue.

She didn’t want to die. Not here. Not now. Not like this.

“Please, God. Just a few more minutes,” she prayed. “I just need a few more minutes of strength.”

Mustering every ounce of fortitude to bolster her courage, she searched for Jordan. He’d sacrificed his own safety to let them escape. Where was he? He should be following them since everyone had exited.

The next instant there was silence. Complete, deafening silence. No gunshots. No voices.

Nothing.

The nothing terrified her more than the gunshots.

Lucy desperately searched for Jordan. Why had the gunfire stopped? Where was the shooter?

A buzzing sounded in her ears. She started toward the exit, but her muscles rebelled. Her limbs were heavy, and her blood moved sluggishly through her veins. A sticky lethargy dragged her into a dense fog.

“Lucy.” Jordan scrambled toward her, though his voice seemed to be coming from a great distance. “It’s clear. He won’t be back. Not with the police on the way.”

His brief, bone-crushing embrace cleared the haze, and she welcomed the pain.

Sitting back, he tucked two fingers beneath her chin. “You’re hurt.”

She touched the spot and her fingers came away red. “It’s nothing.”

Her hands were shaking, and she stared at them as though they belonged to someone else. The faint wail of sirens sounded in the distance, and she nearly wept with relief.

Jordan stood and crossed to the counter, then returned with a handful of napkins. He pressed the crumpled wad against her cheek, and she winced.

“Sorry,” he murmured.

She caught his concerned gaze, and her pulse tripped. Jordan was not the man she’d pictured in her head. The way Brandt had described him, she’d been expecting a doddering computer geek with a pocket protector, a horseshoe of thinning hair and a circle of white tape repairing the bridge of his glasses. The one grainy photo she’d managed to find on the internet had only hinted at the man crouched beside her.

Jordan did not wear glasses, and there was nothing doddering about him.

He was handsome.

Awareness jolted through her, and she shoved the unwelcome feeling aside. After the initial shock and grief of losing Brandt, she’d retreated into numbness. Feeling nothing was better than feeling the pain.

A teeth-rattling shiver traveled the length of her body. “I’m c-cold.”

“Take this.” Jordan shrugged out of his jacket and draped the material around her shoulders. “The paramedics will check if you need stitches. Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“My ankle, I think.”

“Let me take a look.” He gently touched the slight swelling. “It’s not too bad.”

She glanced at her engagement ring, and her stomach clenched. Brandt had tumbled into her life with all the chaotic enthusiasm of a golden retriever puppy. He’d been warm and affectionate, passionate and quick-tempered. She’d been charmed, dazed and knocked for a loop. In her family, affection was reserved, and praise was tempered. With Brandt, everything had been overwhelming and captivating.

Her friends and family didn’t understand her grief for someone she’d dated for only six months. They thought the engagement was rushed. They hadn’t gotten a chance to know him before he traveled overseas. They hadn’t gotten to read his emails and Skype with him. They hadn’t gotten to see the two of them together beyond a few events and a hasty farewell party. But from the moment she’d seen Jordan this morning, she’d sensed he recognized the depth of her loss.

The sirens grew louder, and Jordan grimaced. “When the police get here, it’ll be like someone kicked the ant bed. They’ll swarm us. Don’t make any sudden moves.”

Lucy glanced at the clock. Not even two minutes had passed. That first shot had changed the course of so many lives in the blink of an eye.

“O-okay.”

“You’re in shock,” he said, and she focused on his calm reassurance. “Take a few deep breaths. You’ll be okay.”

You’ll be okay.

Such an odd thing to say. Your fiancé is dead, but you’ll be okay. Someone tried to kill you, but you’ll be okay. Your world is falling apart around you, but you’ll be okay.