That’s good. I’ll get to him next.
First, I dismantle his hired killer.
Once Jillian is in the bathroom, I check that the safety is off on my gun. Then I creep across the living room on silent feet, flatten myself against the wall beside the front door, breathing through my mouth, and start counting heartbeats.
He comes through on six, fast, intended to surprise and stun whoever might be inside.
The door explodes inward and the man rushes the threshold low, suppressed pistol sweeping left where the kitchen table is, where Jillian was sitting thirty seconds ago until I told her to go hide. He’s compact, maybe five-ten, wearing all black with a balaclava pulled down. His form is decent. Elbows tucked, muzzle discipline, kept his entry quick and decisive. But he’s scanning the wrong direc
