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“What—” began Anne, but she was cut off as Blane dragged her unceremoniously to the floor.
“Stay down,” he ordered, his body partially covering hers.
Anne felt ice in her veins and she broke out into a cold sweat as she realized it wasn’t firecrackers, but gunshots. She’d never seen a gun—not in real life—much less had one pointed her direction. She’d never even been mugged, and she lived in D.C.
A voice thundered, “Everybody down on the floor!”
Anne glanced toward the doorway and saw two men with rifles pointed at the crowd. For a moment, no one did anything.
“Down! Now!” The man punctuated his words with a few more shots to the ceiling.
Screams, everywhere as the guests hurried to comply. Anne’s stomach churned.
“Quiet!”
The screams died down and only muffled sobbing could be heard. Anne could now see the men more clearly.
They were dressed in the uniform of the servers, which was probably how they’d gained entrance, Anne thought. They had black ski masks covering their faces and each had an open backpack hung over an arm. One was taller and wider than the other, maybe six feet. The smaller one couldn’t have topped five-nine.
“This is a robbery,” one of them said. Anne couldn’t tell which. “No one will get hurt so long as you do what we say. Ladies, remove your jewelry. Men, your wallets.”
A tiny part of her was relieved. Robbers didn’t kill people, right? They had to be fast before the police came. She was sure the hotel had already called 911.
She craned her neck, trying to see how many people were left from the auction. Blane moved more firmly over her, pinning her to the floor.
“Don’t move. Don’t attract attention,” he hissed into her ear.
The men moved through the room fast. From Anne’s point-of-view, she could see one man refuse to give up his wallet. She flinched when the robber gave him a vicious kick in the stomach, reached down, and tore his wallet from his jacket pocket. The man cradled his stomach, in obvious pain, and all of Anne’s relief fled.
“I don’t have anything,” she whispered to Blane. Her outfit hadn’t come with any jewelry and she hadn’t a dime on her. Would they believe her? Or kick her, too?
“Don’t worry,” he whispered back. “It’ll be okay.”
How? How was it going to possibly be okay? Anne felt slightly hysterical, and yet Blane’s weight on top of her, the confident calm of his voice, was comforting. Maybe it would be okay.
The wait felt interminable, though it was maybe a minute or two.
There were loud voices, arguing, but Anne couldn’t see. A shot rang out and the arguing stopped, replaced by screams as everyone realized what had happened.
“Quiet!”
The screams died. There was more crying now, some of it sounding hysterical.
“Grab a shield and hurry up,” growled one of the robbers. Anne didn’t know what he meant by a “shield”, but it didn’t sound good.
Blane was tense on top of her. She could feel it in the rigid tightness of his muscles. But his breathing was slow and even. The aroma of his cologne surrounded her, a scent of spice and a touch of exotic.
Anne froze, fear making her skin crawl as she saw the taller of the men pause in front of them.
“Put your things in the bag.” His voice was flat and unemotional.
“The lady doesn’t have anything,” Blane said smoothly, dropping his wallet into the backpack.
Anne kept her eyes on the man’s shoes. They were nice shoes. Too nice for a waiter.
“Let theladyspeak for herself,” growled the robber.
“I-I don’t have any jewelry,” Anne managed, hating how her voice trembled.
