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“Aye.” Her lips snarl, looking at Zed. “We can really use a break to bust up that annoying theft corridor upstate. A shitload of our inventory keeps going missing.”
“I trust you, Pris.” I put my hand on her shoulder.
“Lachlan, you’re bleeding.” She brushes her hand on my arm.
“What else is new?” I take out my phone and frown, not seeing a text from Katya. What the hell made it vibrate? “Griffin!”
“Yeah, boss?”
“Help Priscilla with this kid. He’s not to be hurt.”
“Aye.”
I go to check in with my wife when I see a message flashing across the top of my lock screen:
You are receiving this message because you are the emergency contact for Katya Koslov.
My heart stops.
Active Shooter at East Side Performing Arts.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Katya
Thesoundofgunfiredoesn’t seem real. Like it’s in my head. Something butt-dialing me from my memory back when I lived with my father, and I heard endless rounds going off at all hours of the night.
The first time I heard it, I peed myself. Stasia had found me and held me until I stopped crying.
Now, I’m holding myself, tucked under a makeup table. My watery eyes find a face staring at me from across the dressing room.
I didn’t imagine this.
“Where are the announcements?” Della whispers and flinches when more staccato pops go off. “Fuck, that sounds close.”
Only, we don’t know where it’s coming from. The dressing room has one door into a hallway that veers off into the auditorium, a door that’s always open. The other door leads to the stage manager’s office.
The sound could be coming from either place.
We were taught in drills to turn off our phones. I hold mine tight, wishing I could text Lachlan. I’m so scared, and I want my husband. I’ve watched this movie too many times on television. Grainy security footage of a crazed gunman stomping up and down the hallways of a school looking for students to kill. It always seemed impossible.
Until now.
I really thought I was safe here. It’s a performing arts college, for crying out loud!
A soft ticking draws my eyes back to Della. “Why is your phone on?” I hiss through clenched teeth.
“I’m saving my ass.”
“How?” I wave my arms. “Who are you calling?”
“911!”
I roll my eyes. Surely, they already know someone is running around a major school with a gun. Then again, it’s the summer. Does Lachlan know? Is he calling me? Oh God, he’ll go ballistic. With my phone off, he can’t find me.
But if I put it on, and he calls me, the gunman will find me. What a choice!
“Ugh, 911 is actually busy!” Della gets out from under the makeup counter.
