I take the phone from Sarah. “The upstairs group is coming down. We heard glass breaking near the rear of the house.”
“Stay away from the kitchen,” Zip instructs. “Ice Pick is moving toward you.”
“Is anyone inside?” I ask.
“There’s no confirmation,” he answers.
It isn’t good enough, but it’s all we have.
We guide the women into the living room. Maya has done exactly what she promised. The curtains are closed, everyone is away from the windows, and the emergency supplies sit in the middle of the floor.
The chocolate is included.
Maya looks toward the rear hallway. “What about the kitchen?”
“Stay here,” I tell her.
“I can help,” she insists.
“You are helping,” I assure her. “Stay with the others. That’s your job.”
Maya nods.
Another crash comes from the rear hallway, followed by a man’s voice. It isn’t one of ours. My focus narrows to the baseball bat tucked behind the bookcase. I grab it without thinking twice.
Frankie emerges from the downstairs office. “Cara.”
“Someone is at the back of the house,” I tell her.
She takes the heavy flashlight from the emergency kit and grips it like a weapon. “I’m coming with you.”
“No,” I order.
Frankie’s eyebrows rise, and I almost laugh at entirely the wrong moment.
“You said nobody does this alone,” she reminds me.
Apparently, I’m surrounded by women who have made a hobby of using my own rules against me.
“Stay behind me, then,” I tell her.
“Not a chance,” Frankie replies, moving to my side.
We approach the kitchen door together. Something scrapes against the other side. Metal shifts, followed by heavy breathing.
Then a man shouts. “Back away from the door!”
It’s Ice Pick. My knees nearly give out with relief.
“Cara, are you inside?” Ice Pick calls through the door.
“Yes,” I answer loudly enough for him to hear.
“Don’t open this door,” he orders.
“I wasn’t planning to,” I assure him.
Gunfire erupts directly outside the kitchen and we both drop, a bullet punching through the wall above the counter, and plaster exploding across the floor.