Page 6 of Secret Stalker

Ever so carefully, she peeked through the gap above the boxes of pasta to her left but couldn’t see more than a few feet. Looking the other way yielded more of the same—boxes and jars blocking her view.

A squeak. Someone’s shoe against the floor?

Her hand started shaking violently, the pistol bobbing in her grip. A trickle of sweat rolled down the side of her face.

Another sound. Oh, God. Someone was behind her. She was surrounded. The person in her aisle shuffled forward, his shoes squeaking again.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

Gunfire sounded from the front of the store. She sucked in a breath.

Bang!

Another shot rang out.

A new sound—scuffling feet not far from her hiding place. A muffled curse. A dull crack. More footsteps, hurrying toward her now.

This was it. He was coming for her.

She steadied the pistol, blew her breath out, tried to remember everything Max had taught her all those years ago. Exhale slowly, move your finger to the trigger, squeeze—

“Bex, it’s me. Don’t shoot.”

She blinked. Max? Wait, he wasn’t whispering.

She moved her finger away from the trigger just as he crouched down in front of her and peered into her hiding place.

“Max?” All of her questions and fears were in that one hoarsely uttered word.

“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s over.”

He gently took the pistol from her violently shaking hands, shoved it into his holster. And then he was scooping his arms beneath her, pulling her out of the maze of pasta and sauces and lifting her up against his chest.

The sight of a dark heap on the floor had her throwing her arms around Max’s neck and squeezing her eyes tightly shut.

“Is he...is he—”

“He’s alive. Don’t worry about him. I’ve got you, Bex. Everything’s going to be all right.”

She should have told him to put her down, that she was perfectly capable of walking on her own. But she wasn’t entirely sure that was true. Her whole body seemed to have turned into a mass of shaking nerves. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and selfishly buried her face against Max’s chest while he carried her to the front of the store.

She sensed others around them now, heard someone ask Max something but didn’t catch his murmured reply. More sounds—voices, boots scuffling across the floor. Her traumatized mind grasped what was happening, that help had finally arrived, that the SWAT team must be clearing the store and securing the scene. But she couldn’t seem to force her eyes open or loosen her grip around Max’s neck as he carried her outside.

---