wasn’t what he’d expect from a bullet, and something–a ricochet?–smashed one of the bedside lamps. Holy shit. Had a bullet bounced off him? Oh man. No time to think about it now.
The other gunman’s eyes widened when the first shot had no effect. He cocked his weapon.
Greg easily wrenched the gun away and crushed the barrel in his fist.
“Jesus,” the shorter young man backed away as he shouted. “Did you see that, Bob? He’s not just dressed like a comic book hero.” He turned and ran for the bedroom door, his companion not far behind him.
Greg caught them both by the backs of their collars before they’d gone more than a few feet.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” he addressed the crouching woman. She looked up from beside the fallen man, eyes wide in a face looking older than it probably did on most days.
Greg gestured to the man beside her. “Does he need medical assistance?”
“I don’t know.” She seemed to recover herself, shocked features growing more animated. “That one,” she pointed to the taller of the youths in Greg’s grip, “hit George over the head with the gun. He’s breathing okay, but he won’t wake up.”
“Call 911,” Greg told her. “Tell them to send the police and an ambulance. Then bring me something to tie up these,” he scowled at his captives, wanting to give them a good shake, not wanting to call them men, “these thugs, until the police get here.”
She nodded, starting to move. “There’s another–”
At a slight sound behind him, Greg whirled, his prisoners still in hand. The bullet meant for his back struck one of them in the chest.
“Howie,” screamed the young woman in the doorway. She trained her gun higher, on Greg’s masked face. She took a step back. “Look what you made me do.”
“I didn’t mean–” He went numb. What had he done?
Her features contorting into a Greek tragedy mask, she pulled the trigger.
He released the wounded thug, flung up his hand at super speed and caught the bullet, which became a flattened dollop of metal in his hand. He dropped it to the carpet.
The girl stared, at Greg, the dime-shaped bullet, her fallen partner.
The captive struggled against Greg’s grip.
“Run, Jenny,” he yelled to the girl. Her stunned look faded, but rather than take his advice and run, she knelt beside the fallen youth who’d taken the bullet she’d meant for Greg. She leaned over him, running her hands over his chest.
“Is he dead? Oh God, oh God. Are you okay, Howie? It wasn’t supposed to go like this.”
The older woman approached, cell phone in hand. “The police are on the way. I told them to send the ambulance.”
“He’s breathing.” The girl looked up, tears in her eyes.
Greg’s captive squirmed against his choking grip. “Let me go!”
The older woman wore a flowered dress, but a dressing gown lay across the end of the king-sized bed. She pulled free its long cloth belt.
Jenny turned her tear-streaked face toward the woman moving to hand the sash to Greg. “You weren’t supposed to be here. You said you were going out of town.”
“Jenny? Jenny Stevenson? What are you doing here?” The girl’s identity seemed to register with the older woman for the first time.
“You were supposed to be out of town. You and Mr. Zimmer. We needed some cash. No one was supposed to get hurt. Oh Howie.”
The thug in hand lashed out at Mrs. Zimmer when she handed across the tie. Greg shook him into dazed compliance.
Should he tie up the girl too? She had tried to kill him. She’d fired the shot that had laid Howie out on the floor, but she showed no sign of attempting flight, sitting beside her wounded companion as if her legs had collapsed under her. Superman and Batman always knew what to do.
The lady of the house sat heavily on the end of the bed. “We decided to catch a later flight. Why? Why would you do this?” She focused on the girl. “Why break in here? With guns? We’re neighbors. I used to babysit for
The other gunman’s eyes widened when the first shot had no effect. He cocked his weapon.
Greg easily wrenched the gun away and crushed the barrel in his fist.
“Jesus,” the shorter young man backed away as he shouted. “Did you see that, Bob? He’s not just dressed like a comic book hero.” He turned and ran for the bedroom door, his companion not far behind him.
Greg caught them both by the backs of their collars before they’d gone more than a few feet.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” he addressed the crouching woman. She looked up from beside the fallen man, eyes wide in a face looking older than it probably did on most days.
Greg gestured to the man beside her. “Does he need medical assistance?”
“I don’t know.” She seemed to recover herself, shocked features growing more animated. “That one,” she pointed to the taller of the youths in Greg’s grip, “hit George over the head with the gun. He’s breathing okay, but he won’t wake up.”
“Call 911,” Greg told her. “Tell them to send the police and an ambulance. Then bring me something to tie up these,” he scowled at his captives, wanting to give them a good shake, not wanting to call them men, “these thugs, until the police get here.”
She nodded, starting to move. “There’s another–”
At a slight sound behind him, Greg whirled, his prisoners still in hand. The bullet meant for his back struck one of them in the chest.
“Howie,” screamed the young woman in the doorway. She trained her gun higher, on Greg’s masked face. She took a step back. “Look what you made me do.”
“I didn’t mean–” He went numb. What had he done?
Her features contorting into a Greek tragedy mask, she pulled the trigger.
He released the wounded thug, flung up his hand at super speed and caught the bullet, which became a flattened dollop of metal in his hand. He dropped it to the carpet.
The girl stared, at Greg, the dime-shaped bullet, her fallen partner.
The captive struggled against Greg’s grip.
“Run, Jenny,” he yelled to the girl. Her stunned look faded, but rather than take his advice and run, she knelt beside the fallen youth who’d taken the bullet she’d meant for Greg. She leaned over him, running her hands over his chest.
“Is he dead? Oh God, oh God. Are you okay, Howie? It wasn’t supposed to go like this.”
The older woman approached, cell phone in hand. “The police are on the way. I told them to send the ambulance.”
“He’s breathing.” The girl looked up, tears in her eyes.
Greg’s captive squirmed against his choking grip. “Let me go!”
The older woman wore a flowered dress, but a dressing gown lay across the end of the king-sized bed. She pulled free its long cloth belt.
Jenny turned her tear-streaked face toward the woman moving to hand the sash to Greg. “You weren’t supposed to be here. You said you were going out of town.”
“Jenny? Jenny Stevenson? What are you doing here?” The girl’s identity seemed to register with the older woman for the first time.
“You were supposed to be out of town. You and Mr. Zimmer. We needed some cash. No one was supposed to get hurt. Oh Howie.”
The thug in hand lashed out at Mrs. Zimmer when she handed across the tie. Greg shook him into dazed compliance.
Should he tie up the girl too? She had tried to kill him. She’d fired the shot that had laid Howie out on the floor, but she showed no sign of attempting flight, sitting beside her wounded companion as if her legs had collapsed under her. Superman and Batman always knew what to do.
The lady of the house sat heavily on the end of the bed. “We decided to catch a later flight. Why? Why would you do this?” She focused on the girl. “Why break in here? With guns? We’re neighbors. I used to babysit for
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