Page 126 of Rogue Mission
He’s not getting by with this so easy. I’m not just going to walk out of here with him. He’ll have to shoot me on the spot first.
I step back, trying to look casual when I’m a cauldron of fear and fury.
“I’m not going anywhere. You’ll have to shoot me right here.”
I point at the scuffed plank floor, as if I can pin my life to it with one stubborn finger and a lift of my chin.
The image rises uninvited in my head—my blood seeping along the seams, dark, warm.
I shove it away as a slow, mean curve lifts under his mustache. “While that would be easy, it’s hard as hell to clean. Besides, killing you with two SEALs on the property would be stupid. Wouldn’t it?”
“I don’t know anything about being a murderer.”
With a disturbing wink, he replies, “Now you do. Don’t trust anyone.”
Never again.
But I have to survive this first.Justice is coming. He’ll be here. I only need a sliver of time.
Think.
Dammit. My bear spray is upstairs.
My vision widens, edges sharpening instead of tunneling as I inventory the room.
Back door: six strides, his line of fire is straight to it.
Knife block: too far.
Cast-iron skillet: also too far.
Coffee pot: maybe.
It’s within reach. Full and hot too.
The scent from roasted beans is slight and assuring in the air.
The borosilicate glass pitcher is what I’m really interested in. It’s thermal-shock resistant, hard, but it could break on impact…
“Move. Out the front. We’ll walk to my truck,” he growls, kicking a chair aside.
The scrape claws over my nerves, making me flinch.
He finds my jolt entertaining. “Not so brave now that you’re on the other end of the gun?”
“I’m facing an assassin.” I edge a fraction left. “What do you expect?”
I don’t say my assassin.
Naming something gives it shape. The quantum professor who taught my lab would tell me that observation collapses a wave into a particle.
Today I need waves and outcomes that haven’t settled. I need the branch of reality where I win.
So I imagine it. The pot leaving my hand, glass shattering, hot coffee turning his confidence into a scream. I picture the door. Justice. Safety. Forever.
“Goddammit, we don’t have all day.” He lunges forward to grab me.
I leap back, fingers clamping around the coffee pot handle, my hip crashing into the table, but I stay out of his reach.
