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Her skin was on fire as sweat dripped down her back. Dakota didn’t know what she was going to do. When there was a loud crash behind her, she was too frozen with fear to turn and see what new threat was coming her way.
But she did see the two men in front of her shift their focus, their hands reaching for guns inside holsters attached to their chests. All color washed from her face.
“Dakota, get down!”
Both relief and disbelief washed through her at the sound of Ace’s voice. She didn’t hesitate as she dropped down. Ace flew over her, plowing into one of the men, a sickening thud echoing through her kitchen as the man’s head hit the tile floor.
A shot rang out, and then a second one, her eardrums ringing as the sound echoed in her kitchen. Tile splinters broke apart, stabbing her in the arm and side of her neck. She couldn’t focus on that as she tried to see what was happening.
Grunts could be heard as Ace turned, his fist slamming into the second man’s jaw, making the huge guy stagger back on his feet. All of this happened in seconds, though time seemed to have stopped having any meaning whatsoever. The second guy fell, and then an unbearable silence swept through her kitchen.
Her eyes must have been the size of saucers when they focused on Ace, whom she barely recognized. He looked feral, clutching a gun in one hand while reaching for her with the other. She instinctively flinched away from him as she noticed blood dripping from his fingers. Her focus was on the red beads as they splattered to her floor, the sound seeming so loud, though she was sure she couldn’t hear the splatters at all.
“D
akota?” Ace’s voice was trying to break through the ringing in her ears. But she just shook her head as she gazed at this man she didn’t really know at all.
“I . . . What . . . Who . . .” Dakota couldn’t complete a sentence, much less ask any questions.
“It’s okay, Dakota,” Ace told her, reaching for her again. She took a step back. If he touched her at this moment, she might fall apart, and with two men groaning on her floor, now wasn’t the time to let that happen.
“I’m just going to call the cops,” he told her, his voice filled with authority. He lifted his phone and spoke for a few moments. The ringing was still buzzing in her ears. She shook where she stood as she tried to replay all that had just happened. He hung up and grabbed her fingers.
“Let me go,” she said, hating how weak her voice was.
“I can’t,” he said. “You’re in shock, and you’ve been cut. I need to look at the wounds.”
“Cut?” she questioned. His hand moved upward, and he pulled a shard from her neck, showing her the piece of sharp tile that had her blood on it.
“One of the bullets hit your counter. It sent splinters through the air,” he said.
She finally looked him in the eyes. That’s when she noticed the pain on his face. She looked at his arm, which was hanging by his side. Blood was flowing heavily from his fingers.
“Were you shot?” she asked, more shock filtering through her.
“It doesn’t matter.” They heard sirens in the distance. Help was on the way.
“It matters,” she countered. She shook off her fright and gripped his good hand firmly, pulling him to the stool not far from them. He didn’t sit. “Take off your jacket,” she told him.
“It can wait,” he insisted.
“Damn it!” she shouted, and his eyes rounded in shock. “Take off the freaking jacket!”
Ace smiled at her, and she wanted to smack him. But then he took off the jacket. There were two ragged wounds on his arm, dripping blood. Her stomach turned over.
A loud knock pounded on her door just in time for her to turn and see it crash open. Two uniformed men slid into the room, weapons drawn. Both she and Ace held up their hands.
“We’re in here,” Ace called out. “My name is Ace Armstrong. I’m with the CIA. The culprits have been neutralized.” He sounded so calm, so professional as he said all this to the officers, who moved forward, weapons still drawn.
They looked at the two men on the floor and then at Ace and Dakota.
“My weapon is here on the counter,” Ace pointed out. “My badge next to it.” Dakota was amazed he’d thought about having that out of his pocket for when the officers arrived.
Another siren cut off as one of the officers checked out Ace’s badge before moving his gun away. Only then did they holster their weapons. One officer spoke into his mic, and then paramedics came through the door.
“You’ve been shot,” the officer with the name tag R. Johnson said.
“I’ll get it taken care of,” Ace told him.
