door. I spun toward the sound, both hands on my gun.
A kick—and the door burst open.
Mom screamed.
A man hulked in the threshold.
My finger yanked the trigger. One, two, three times. The shots clanged in my ears.
A strangled cry. The man listed sideways. Where had I hit him?
Something heavy hit the floor. My eyes jerked down to see a big gun with a very long barrel, dropped from the man’s fingers. Was that a silencer?
“Hannah!” Mom shrieked.
The man staggered. Cradled under his left arm were my laptop and small backup drive. He pressed them to his side. Bent down, fumbling for his weapon.
I saw the top of a bald head.
I fired again. Saw the bullet hit his right hand.
“Unngkk.” He straightened and looked at me, stunned and unsteady. For one terrifying moment our eyes locked. It was Samuelson.
I couldn’t move.
He dragged in air. For the first time I saw a patch of red spreading on his chest. A bullet hole.
His eyelids drooped. “We’re both dead.” The words ground from him like gravel.
Samuelson turned and stumbled away.
I stood rooted to the spot, gun wavering in my hands. As Mom wailed behind me, Samuelson’s heavy treads headed through the kitchen. The back door opened and slammed.
A dozen thoughts screamed in my brain. “We’re both dead.” Why? What had I done? And—the man had come for my laptop? Why?
“Haaannaaaah.” Mom sounded like a petrified child.
I whipped around, laid my gun on the dresser. Ran to hold her. “It’s okay now, he’s gone.”
“What happened, why did he—”
“Shh, it’s okay.” Tears streaked her face. I wiped them away.
My computer . The truth hit home.
God, tell me this isn’t true.
Mom held onto me and cried. “You had a gun ! You shot him.”
My throat tried to close. “I know, I know.”
“Is he gone now?”
“Yes. But he might be back.”
“Call the police!”
I wanted to. How I wanted that. But I couldn’t trust San Carlos police now. They were part of the San Mateo Sheriff’s Department. As were Harcroft and Wade. And no one had come to our aid. The officer outside, our supposed protection, had to have heard the gunshots.
“We have to leave. Right now.”
“Leave?”
I yanked the covers off her legs. “Come on. Hurry. ”
“Where will we go?”
Yes, where ?
“Come on, get up.” I swung her legs over the edge of the bed. My heart still galloped, adrenaline zinging my nerves. Thoughts whirled in my head. No time to sift through which ones were crazy and which made sense.
My laptop. And my backup drive .
Thank goodness I was still dressed in my jeans and sweatshirt. I flew around Mom’s room, yanking out clothes and throwing them into a suitcase I dragged from her closet. Threw her medicine in as well. Mom’s eyes were wide, her gaze jerking around the room. Her hands flailed in the air, seeking what to do.
“Here, put these on.” I thrust blue knit pants and a green shirt into her hands.
“What about under—”
“Here.” I threw a pair of panties on the bed.
How long had passed since Samuelson left? Two minutes? One more, and we had to be out of there. I pulled a coat for Mom off its hanger, told her to put it on.
His gun . I spun around and spotted the large weapon still lying on the floor near the wall. What to do with it?
I kicked it into the hall. Couldn’t leave it loaded in the room with Mom.
“What are you doing?” Mom wailed.
My own gun lay on the dresser, with one bullet left. I scooped it up.
In the hall I kicked Samuelson’s gun again, toward the kitchen. When it was far enough away from my mother, I ran to get a plastic grocery bag. Set my own gun on the kitchen counter. Without touching the man’s gun I scooped it inside the bag and wrapped it up, then darted to my room and shoved it in a drawer.
Wait. I yanked the drawer open. What if they came back and ransacked my house? I couldn’t leave the gun here. If it contained fingerprints, it was evidence.
From my closet shelf I
A kick—and the door burst open.
Mom screamed.
A man hulked in the threshold.
My finger yanked the trigger. One, two, three times. The shots clanged in my ears.
A strangled cry. The man listed sideways. Where had I hit him?
Something heavy hit the floor. My eyes jerked down to see a big gun with a very long barrel, dropped from the man’s fingers. Was that a silencer?
“Hannah!” Mom shrieked.
The man staggered. Cradled under his left arm were my laptop and small backup drive. He pressed them to his side. Bent down, fumbling for his weapon.
I saw the top of a bald head.
I fired again. Saw the bullet hit his right hand.
“Unngkk.” He straightened and looked at me, stunned and unsteady. For one terrifying moment our eyes locked. It was Samuelson.
I couldn’t move.
He dragged in air. For the first time I saw a patch of red spreading on his chest. A bullet hole.
His eyelids drooped. “We’re both dead.” The words ground from him like gravel.
Samuelson turned and stumbled away.
I stood rooted to the spot, gun wavering in my hands. As Mom wailed behind me, Samuelson’s heavy treads headed through the kitchen. The back door opened and slammed.
A dozen thoughts screamed in my brain. “We’re both dead.” Why? What had I done? And—the man had come for my laptop? Why?
“Haaannaaaah.” Mom sounded like a petrified child.
I whipped around, laid my gun on the dresser. Ran to hold her. “It’s okay now, he’s gone.”
“What happened, why did he—”
“Shh, it’s okay.” Tears streaked her face. I wiped them away.
My computer . The truth hit home.
God, tell me this isn’t true.
Mom held onto me and cried. “You had a gun ! You shot him.”
My throat tried to close. “I know, I know.”
“Is he gone now?”
“Yes. But he might be back.”
“Call the police!”
I wanted to. How I wanted that. But I couldn’t trust San Carlos police now. They were part of the San Mateo Sheriff’s Department. As were Harcroft and Wade. And no one had come to our aid. The officer outside, our supposed protection, had to have heard the gunshots.
“We have to leave. Right now.”
“Leave?”
I yanked the covers off her legs. “Come on. Hurry. ”
“Where will we go?”
Yes, where ?
“Come on, get up.” I swung her legs over the edge of the bed. My heart still galloped, adrenaline zinging my nerves. Thoughts whirled in my head. No time to sift through which ones were crazy and which made sense.
My laptop. And my backup drive .
Thank goodness I was still dressed in my jeans and sweatshirt. I flew around Mom’s room, yanking out clothes and throwing them into a suitcase I dragged from her closet. Threw her medicine in as well. Mom’s eyes were wide, her gaze jerking around the room. Her hands flailed in the air, seeking what to do.
“Here, put these on.” I thrust blue knit pants and a green shirt into her hands.
“What about under—”
“Here.” I threw a pair of panties on the bed.
How long had passed since Samuelson left? Two minutes? One more, and we had to be out of there. I pulled a coat for Mom off its hanger, told her to put it on.
His gun . I spun around and spotted the large weapon still lying on the floor near the wall. What to do with it?
I kicked it into the hall. Couldn’t leave it loaded in the room with Mom.
“What are you doing?” Mom wailed.
My own gun lay on the dresser, with one bullet left. I scooped it up.
In the hall I kicked Samuelson’s gun again, toward the kitchen. When it was far enough away from my mother, I ran to get a plastic grocery bag. Set my own gun on the kitchen counter. Without touching the man’s gun I scooped it inside the bag and wrapped it up, then darted to my room and shoved it in a drawer.
Wait. I yanked the drawer open. What if they came back and ransacked my house? I couldn’t leave the gun here. If it contained fingerprints, it was evidence.
From my closet shelf I
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