Thank god.
“Do you speak English?” she asked as she opened the door to the man.
He nodded and stepped inside, looking around and surveying the damage with interest. He was young and short, with black jeans and a dark green shirt, and a scowl. He didn’t look much like a cop.
“When I came home, it was like this,” she said.
He moved exceptionally fast. She only saw the knife because the flat side of it caught the light before it bit into the flesh of her neck.
“Where is Juric?” The man’s voice was low with a European accent she couldn’t place, and rasped like he smoked a thousand cigarettes a day. “Tell me or I slit your fucking throat.”
“W-What?”
The hand jerked and the burning pain said he’d cut her. A nick, just enough to make her bleed and believe he’d do what he said.
“We know he was here. Why?”
Juric, here? “I don’t know.” Her whole body shook. Living in New York, she’d been told not to fight back when being mugged or attacked, but she’d always been a fighter. She needed a weapon.
The ugly man grabbed a fistful of hair at the base of her skull, yanking her over to the stove. The knife was gone from her neck to flip the gas burner onto high, and then the sharp point was at her side, just below the ribs. Her eyes were drawn to the ring of flames rising from the empty burner.
“Put your hand out,” he commanded.
She tried not to whimper. “No.”
“Then talk. Why did he come here?”
“Please, I don’t know,” she gasped loudly.
The hand in her hair tightened and made her vision blur for a single breath. Warm blood ran down her neck, soaking her shirt. There was a cast-iron skillet in the drying rack on the other side of the counter. She couldn’t reach it, not with his hands on her.
For the first time since she’d met Shawn, she was overwhelmingly relieved to see him. He barreled out of the bedroom, a blur of dark hair and angry eyes charging towards her. Holy crap, he moved fast . So fast he probably didn’t see the knife lying in wait for him. The man released her, assuming Shawn was a bigger threat.
Her hands reached frantically, closed around the handle of the heavy skillet. Shawn was almost to them, where he’d run right into the knife. So she swung with all the force she had. There was a horrifying thud when the skillet connected with the man’s skull, and the impact reverberated up her arms. He fell instantly, the knife skittering across the floor. Shawn pulled up short, stunned.
“Oh, shit.” Her voice was barely audible as she dropped the skillet.
He flew towards her and grabbed a dishtowel along the way, pressing it to the side of her neck when he reached her.
“Are you all right?” His eyes were full of panic.
“Is he dead? Did I kill him?”
“Kara, how bad are you hurt?”
She didn’t answer. Instead she looked down and saw the burner still going. She switched it off, her mind numb from what had happened. What she’d just done.
Shawn eyed the twitching body on the floor. Kara’s face was completely white as she held the towel to her bleeding neck. Her shoulders shook as she trembled. They couldn’t stay here — it wasn’t safe. He pulled a black coat off of a hook and draped it around her shoulders, not wanting the red one she’d been wearing because it would be too noticeable. “We have to go.”
He gently pressed her forward, staying between her and the man on the floor, shielding the body from her view. He grabbed both of the bags they’d left by the front door, urging her out into the hall, and was grateful now he’d set the crew on standby until he called. He’d felt confident in getting Kara’s invitation to stay the night, but then again, he’d made plenty of mistakes with her. She said nothing as he dialed his pilot’s mobile.
“Register the flight plan to Munich. We’ll be on board in twenty minutes and I want to be in the air immediately afterward.”
They fled back to the airport, him pulling both
“Do you speak English?” she asked as she opened the door to the man.
He nodded and stepped inside, looking around and surveying the damage with interest. He was young and short, with black jeans and a dark green shirt, and a scowl. He didn’t look much like a cop.
“When I came home, it was like this,” she said.
He moved exceptionally fast. She only saw the knife because the flat side of it caught the light before it bit into the flesh of her neck.
“Where is Juric?” The man’s voice was low with a European accent she couldn’t place, and rasped like he smoked a thousand cigarettes a day. “Tell me or I slit your fucking throat.”
“W-What?”
The hand jerked and the burning pain said he’d cut her. A nick, just enough to make her bleed and believe he’d do what he said.
“We know he was here. Why?”
Juric, here? “I don’t know.” Her whole body shook. Living in New York, she’d been told not to fight back when being mugged or attacked, but she’d always been a fighter. She needed a weapon.
The ugly man grabbed a fistful of hair at the base of her skull, yanking her over to the stove. The knife was gone from her neck to flip the gas burner onto high, and then the sharp point was at her side, just below the ribs. Her eyes were drawn to the ring of flames rising from the empty burner.
“Put your hand out,” he commanded.
She tried not to whimper. “No.”
“Then talk. Why did he come here?”
“Please, I don’t know,” she gasped loudly.
The hand in her hair tightened and made her vision blur for a single breath. Warm blood ran down her neck, soaking her shirt. There was a cast-iron skillet in the drying rack on the other side of the counter. She couldn’t reach it, not with his hands on her.
For the first time since she’d met Shawn, she was overwhelmingly relieved to see him. He barreled out of the bedroom, a blur of dark hair and angry eyes charging towards her. Holy crap, he moved fast . So fast he probably didn’t see the knife lying in wait for him. The man released her, assuming Shawn was a bigger threat.
Her hands reached frantically, closed around the handle of the heavy skillet. Shawn was almost to them, where he’d run right into the knife. So she swung with all the force she had. There was a horrifying thud when the skillet connected with the man’s skull, and the impact reverberated up her arms. He fell instantly, the knife skittering across the floor. Shawn pulled up short, stunned.
“Oh, shit.” Her voice was barely audible as she dropped the skillet.
He flew towards her and grabbed a dishtowel along the way, pressing it to the side of her neck when he reached her.
“Are you all right?” His eyes were full of panic.
“Is he dead? Did I kill him?”
“Kara, how bad are you hurt?”
She didn’t answer. Instead she looked down and saw the burner still going. She switched it off, her mind numb from what had happened. What she’d just done.
Shawn eyed the twitching body on the floor. Kara’s face was completely white as she held the towel to her bleeding neck. Her shoulders shook as she trembled. They couldn’t stay here — it wasn’t safe. He pulled a black coat off of a hook and draped it around her shoulders, not wanting the red one she’d been wearing because it would be too noticeable. “We have to go.”
He gently pressed her forward, staying between her and the man on the floor, shielding the body from her view. He grabbed both of the bags they’d left by the front door, urging her out into the hall, and was grateful now he’d set the crew on standby until he called. He’d felt confident in getting Kara’s invitation to stay the night, but then again, he’d made plenty of mistakes with her. She said nothing as he dialed his pilot’s mobile.
“Register the flight plan to Munich. We’ll be on board in twenty minutes and I want to be in the air immediately afterward.”
They fled back to the airport, him pulling both
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