Page 115 of One of Us Is Guilty

He dropped to his knees, his head rocked back, but Bloch wasalready moving past him at speed, the stock now at her shoulder and the barrel pointed at the right-hand side of the house, the iron sights trained on the corner of the building. Her focus stayed there as her boots found the porch steps, and she ascended them stepping sideways, the shotgun levelled at the corner at all times.

A head poked round the corner.

Bloch pulled the trigger.

A cloud of brick dust blew off the edge of the building. The dust cloud cleared to reveal a bloodied, bald head. The body followed it to the floor. She had missed him, but the brick shrapnel dislodged from the shot had done the job for her.

The pistol fell from his dead hands.

Bloch’s right shoulder hit the wall of the house and she scraped along it toward the end, keeping tight, narrowing the angle for the short man with the black hair wearing the baggy overalls. He was the leader, Bloch had guessed, and he had yet to put his head round the corner. Considering what had happened to his bald friend, he might just think twice about poking any body part round it.

She shut her mouth, tried to slow down her breathing.

Listened.

All she could hear was the beating of her own heart.

Shit.

The short guy now had the advantage.

Right now, he could be doubling back, coming through the house and be out the front door in twenty seconds. If he did that, he would be behind her, with Bloch’s back against a wall and no cover. Or, he could play the double bluff and come around the corner of the house shooting at tight angles.

Shit.

Only way to play this was to beat the odds.

She should widen her killing field. Run back to her truck and get behind it, giving her a broad field of fire covering the corner of the house and the front door.

She lowered the shotgun, looked at her Jeep.

Thirty feet away.

Her boots would be hammering on that gravel.

There were three poor options here.

Go through the house, but maybe he was heading that way and had already taken cover in the kitchen with a kill shot lined up for Bloch soon as she stepped onto those tiles.

Try for the Jeep. Play the odds. But thirty feet of open ground lay between Bloch and the perfect firing position.

Or stay put.

Which was the biggest risk?

House. Jeep and cover. Or stay on the corner.

Three different ways to survive or three different ways to get herself killed.

This last armed man already knew Bloch must’ve dealt with the giant quietly. And his bald partner was down.

This wasn’t the short guy’s first rodeo. He was trained and experienced.

The only question was how smart this man would be in this situation and how clearly he would think his problem through. Given his professionalism, he’d probably been killing people for a long time.

That meant he was either really smart, or really lucky.

In moments like this, death comes fast and easy. But it’s not making the wrong decision that takes a life, it’s freezing up and not making any kind of decision at all.