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He caught her arms. “We need to go inside.”
His hold seemed too tight. “Uh, okay.”
Simon’s lips thinned. “I’m…sorry. I’m tired. Hell of a night, you know?”
Oh, yes, she did.
He eased his grip.
And Dee realized he looked tired. There was an edge of darkness under his eyes. The faint lines near his mouth had hardened.
Only fair, considering I probably look like warm hell.
She followed Simon inside. He bolted the back door. Rolled his shoulders. Then he asked, voice distracted, “You want some food?”
She’d already had a shower, and sure, food sounded real good right then. “Yes, why not?”
His head shot up and his gaze whipped toward the front of the house. “Fuck.”
An icy stillness settled over her. “Uh, Simon?”
“Company.”
Understanding hit hard. “And here we are without a welcome mat out.” They both ran toward the front of the house. She glimpsed the front door. Weapon. Dee needed a weapon, and Simon had to?—
The windows exploded. Glass shattered, raining into the room as bullets ripped through the panes. Shards hit her and cut deep even as the rapid fire thunder of the guns echoed in her ears.
Sonofabitch.
Dee hit the floor just as the wooden front door burst apart. Bits of wood flew across the room, some biting into her flesh, and some scraping the skin right off.
She crawled behind the couch. Pitiful cover, but it was better than nothing. Simon inched toward her. A long trickle of blood ran down the side of his face.
Dee sucked in a quick breath. Whoever was firing—the bastards were sure doing a fine job of shooting up the place.
Where was her gun? Back in that blood-soaked room? Currently in some evidence bag the cops had at the station? Talk about a perfect time to be unarmed.
Simon grabbed her shoulder. “We’ve got to run for it,” he whispered.
That didn’t seem like the best option, but then, sitting there and waiting for the assholes with guns to come and shoot her right in the face didn’t seem like such a fine plan, either.
He pointed to the right, to a closed door. “Garage,” he mouthed.
Five feet away. Maybe six. But where were the shooters? Still outside? Or working their way in?
The faint groan of wood reached her ears. The back porch was wooden. Old, faded wood. Fuck. Their attackers were coming from two directions.
“Go!” Simon heaved her up, moving at the same time to cover her back. Dee lunged for the garage door. How had they found them so quickly? How had?—
Bam. Bam.
One bullet cut right across her shoulder. Sonofabitch.
Using her left hand, she jerked open the door.
Simon hit a button on the wall even as he fell into her. They tumbled down three steps, hit the concrete, hard, and staggered up in a tangle of limbs and curses.
The Mustang waited with its black coat gleaming. Dee jumped into the passenger seat even as more bullets flew. Simon leapt into the driver’s seat and took the wheel.
