But she forced it aside, knowing there was no time for sentimentality. She had to draw the killer into the open. Then she could make certain that Martin was all right.
Glancing back at the kitchen, she reached for a mop. Not exactly the most innovative of ideas, but it just might work. Staying low, she positioned herself under the open window by the table, and then carefully raised the mop.
On a good day her hair probably didn't look as good, but hopefully the silhouette would do the trick. She counted one one hundred, two one hundred, and flinched as the mop splintered above her. Popping up before the shooter had time to regroup, she narrowed down possible trajectories, and then ducked back to the screen door.
The practical thing would be to head out the front door and never look back. But there was no way in hell she was leaving Martin. Swinging the door wide, she kept low, her eyes sweeping the area for signs of life.
A shadow detached itself from the garage wall, the pot of bougainvillea at her feet knocked over as a bullet whizzed past. She jumped back into the kitchen, running to the front door and then around the left side of the house. The covered patio would provide protection until the killer figured out where she was and changed positions.
What she needed to do was draw him out, away from the garage and Martin, then double back and hopefully gain access. She had one advantage in that she knew every inch of the property. And even if the assailant had studied the plat he wouldn't be as familiar with it as she was.
There was no question in her mind that he was gunning for her. Which meant that if she gave him the opening, he'd take it. All she had to do was be ready to move when he did.
She rounded the corner on a crouch and inched forward until she was situated just below the stone wall that lined the left side of the patio. The pool glistened turquoise in the dappled sunlight, the soothing sound of the waterfall totally at odds with the reality of the situation.
Taking a deep breath, Simone tightened her grip on the Sig and swung around the end of the patio firing. Three shots, all aimed away from the garage, and she rolled back around the corner as a spit of bullets stirred the dirt in the garden fronting the patio.
Bingo.
She held her position, waiting. If life were good, then the man would show himself. But she knew it was unlikely. If someone was after her after all these years, he had to know what he was doing. If nothing else, there was the fact that he'd found her.
She steeled herself for one last check of his position, and inched around the corner, this time staying low to the ground. Her instincts were in full force now, and she heard the hiss of the bullet, diving for cover while marking the trajectory, satisfied that she'd accomplished her objective.
Running full out now, she whipped back around the house, and down the right side, staying as close to the wall as her rosebushes allowed. Reaching the corner, she pivoted left, gun ready, and dashed across the open space toward the garage. A hail of bullets followed her footsteps, the sound of metal against concrete keeping her moving.
Inside the bay, she sprinted for the stairs, and was up them into the apartment in only seconds.
But she was too late.
Martin lay slumped in the corner.
Dear God, what had she done?
CHAPTER THREE
RACING ACROSS THE ROOM, Simone kept her gun aimed at the window as she knelt beside Martin, searching for a pulse.
"Martin? Can you hear me?"
There was silence for a moment, but a definite heartbeat, and then his eyes fluttered open, his expression a mixture of confusion and terror. "What's happening?" he whispered.
"You've been shot." She ran her hand over his shoulder and pectoral muscle until she located the wound.
"Is he still out there?" he mumbled, working to sit up, his pupils dilated with fear.
"I think so. But we can't go anywhere until I get you bandaged. So hold still." She pushed him back down and then
Glancing back at the kitchen, she reached for a mop. Not exactly the most innovative of ideas, but it just might work. Staying low, she positioned herself under the open window by the table, and then carefully raised the mop.
On a good day her hair probably didn't look as good, but hopefully the silhouette would do the trick. She counted one one hundred, two one hundred, and flinched as the mop splintered above her. Popping up before the shooter had time to regroup, she narrowed down possible trajectories, and then ducked back to the screen door.
The practical thing would be to head out the front door and never look back. But there was no way in hell she was leaving Martin. Swinging the door wide, she kept low, her eyes sweeping the area for signs of life.
A shadow detached itself from the garage wall, the pot of bougainvillea at her feet knocked over as a bullet whizzed past. She jumped back into the kitchen, running to the front door and then around the left side of the house. The covered patio would provide protection until the killer figured out where she was and changed positions.
What she needed to do was draw him out, away from the garage and Martin, then double back and hopefully gain access. She had one advantage in that she knew every inch of the property. And even if the assailant had studied the plat he wouldn't be as familiar with it as she was.
There was no question in her mind that he was gunning for her. Which meant that if she gave him the opening, he'd take it. All she had to do was be ready to move when he did.
She rounded the corner on a crouch and inched forward until she was situated just below the stone wall that lined the left side of the patio. The pool glistened turquoise in the dappled sunlight, the soothing sound of the waterfall totally at odds with the reality of the situation.
Taking a deep breath, Simone tightened her grip on the Sig and swung around the end of the patio firing. Three shots, all aimed away from the garage, and she rolled back around the corner as a spit of bullets stirred the dirt in the garden fronting the patio.
Bingo.
She held her position, waiting. If life were good, then the man would show himself. But she knew it was unlikely. If someone was after her after all these years, he had to know what he was doing. If nothing else, there was the fact that he'd found her.
She steeled herself for one last check of his position, and inched around the corner, this time staying low to the ground. Her instincts were in full force now, and she heard the hiss of the bullet, diving for cover while marking the trajectory, satisfied that she'd accomplished her objective.
Running full out now, she whipped back around the house, and down the right side, staying as close to the wall as her rosebushes allowed. Reaching the corner, she pivoted left, gun ready, and dashed across the open space toward the garage. A hail of bullets followed her footsteps, the sound of metal against concrete keeping her moving.
Inside the bay, she sprinted for the stairs, and was up them into the apartment in only seconds.
But she was too late.
Martin lay slumped in the corner.
Dear God, what had she done?
CHAPTER THREE
RACING ACROSS THE ROOM, Simone kept her gun aimed at the window as she knelt beside Martin, searching for a pulse.
"Martin? Can you hear me?"
There was silence for a moment, but a definite heartbeat, and then his eyes fluttered open, his expression a mixture of confusion and terror. "What's happening?" he whispered.
"You've been shot." She ran her hand over his shoulder and pectoral muscle until she located the wound.
"Is he still out there?" he mumbled, working to sit up, his pupils dilated with fear.
"I think so. But we can't go anywhere until I get you bandaged. So hold still." She pushed him back down and then
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