Читать книгу Surviving The Storm - Heather Woodhaven - Страница 11

TWO

Aria’s shoulders drooped. Five more seconds and they would’ve had that door closed. It wasn’t as if bullets couldn’t cut through the composite engineered wood, but it would’ve given them a little more time. Of course, she would’ve chosen a more resistant white oak or poplar door, but no one had asked her opinion.

Aria’s and David’s eyes met for the first time in two years. His eyes were the deep sea-green that haunted her dreams. He blinked in acknowledgment. They both turned slowly to face the gunman standing in the doorway. As David twisted, her eyes caught sight of a shiny tool that resembled a giant safety pin. It dangled from the hip pocket of his tool belt—a spark lighter?

Her heart raced. If she could time it right...

“There’s no need for guns.” David lifted his hands, the chemical jugs hanging from his thumbs. He took a few steps toward the man.

Aria followed his lead, right by his side. She needed to stay in reach of that spark lighter. David must have mistaken her move for wanting to be close to him because he gave her a half smile, his eyes downcast as if apologetic or pitying her. She couldn’t decipher which he intended.

“That’s far enough,” the gunman barked, his voice nasal. He leaned against the left side of the doorway, one hand on the gun and the other arm covering his nose.

Aria kept her head bowed down as if she was cowering, hoping the gunman wouldn’t see her as a threat. She peeked up through her bangs.

The man squinted his cold eyes, staring hard at David. “I was going to feel bad having to kill you two, but now not so much.” The gunman dropped his arm away from his face. A bloody nose revealed the damage she’d done when she’d shoved the closet door into him.

She slipped her right hand in the front of her apron. Her index finger found the trigger button on the spray can. It was a serious possibility her plan would backfire and injure or kill them all. But if she didn’t try, she and David were looking at certain death.

The man wrapped the second hand around the butt of the gun to steady his aim.

Aria pulled out the aerosol can. She prayed it had been shaken enough from running through the rooms. “Drop the gun,” she commanded, her voice shaking. She centered her arm toward her target.

The gunman released an ugly laugh. “You gonna dust me to death, lady?”

“No,” she croaked. Her left hand popped the spark lighter from David’s hip as her right hand sprayed the orange-scented solution in his direction. With one click from the spark lighter, the stream of spray transformed into a flamethrower.

The gunman’s left sleeve caught on fire, and he screamed. Aria flung the spray of flames at his other sleeve. He jumped backward, his arm hitting the opposite hallway wall. The gun dropped and slid down the hall. She hurled the spray can into the hallway as well, lest it explode.

“Stop, drop and roll,” she shouted at the man. His face contorted into a snarl of rage, but she wasn’t trying to be sarcastic. Why wasn’t he following her advice? He was on fire!

David rushed past her into the hall. The sound of a gunshot echoed through the hall as he jumped back into the room. He slammed the door closed and flicked the bolt. “I wanted to get the gun, but there’s another gunman out there.”

“Stop, drop and roll,” Aria cried again through the closed door, visions of a burning man searing into her conscience.

David raised an eyebrow. “He’ll be fine. It’s us I’m worried about. Set up the ladder. Hurry!”

Aria dropped the spark-lighter into her apron and complied but wondered why he couldn’t do it himself. She looked over her shoulder to find David on one knee. He placed one jug of ammonia on one end of the hallway door and bleach on the other end. The hallway door shook with pounding.

“There’s no way out,” the voice said through the door, the one she recognized as Robert. “Save yourself the pain and open up.” A moment later a bullet plunged through the bottom panel, mere inches from where David was crouched.

She stumbled backward. “What are you doing?”

“Setting a trap,” David answered. “Go on up. I’ll meet you in the attic.”

Aria surveyed the small square at the top of the ladder. Ever since she had witnessed her dad’s fall two years ago, her fear of heights was almost debilitating.

“What are you waiting for? Now!”

A bullet ricocheted off the side of the ladder. Fear of being shot won, and she began to climb. Her feet were heavier than she could remember, but her arms still responded as she pulled herself up each rung and focused on the metal in her hands. She couldn’t afford to look up, but she couldn’t look down either. Strong hands touched her waist. She jolted and reached for the next rung, glancing down.

“Faster, Aria,” he encouraged. “Before the fumes or the bullets get us.”

The ladder shook underneath both their weight and she would’ve stopped but David kept chanting, “Faster, faster.” She took solace in the fact that if she slipped, he would, at the very least, cushion her fall.

She shoved the wooden panel at the ceiling up and to the side and crawled onto the nearest two-by-four. A series of three gunshots broke through the wood. She flinched and almost lost her balance.

If she lost her footing, the drywall between the joists wasn’t designed to hold weight, and she’d likely fall through the ceiling. Aria let her hands slide along the rough wood as a guide and crawled as fast as she could, trying to make room for David to join her in the attic. The wood vibrated with David’s weight. He must’ve made it.

“Can you stand up?” he asked. “I might need your help.”

The hair on the right side of her face flipped up. Something had missed hitting her face by an inch. She felt her eyes widen. Was it a bullet? What if it was something else? Surely, the construction crew would’ve evicted bats during the remodel.

Aria put one foot in front and pressed up into a lunge until she was upright. She used to be a natural at walking the balance beams of construction, but that was before her dad’s death. It was another reminder that her heart, her dreams and her confidence had died with him. Not to mention her relationship with David.

She searched her pockets and found her phone before turning back. The light was enough to see David’s face, albeit covered in shadows. He was on his knees, pulling at the ladder rungs like a fisherman pulling in an anchor.

“Smart,” she commented.

David didn’t reply but grunted with the effort of pulling the heavy metal ladder into the attic. He held up the rest of the ladder’s weight with one shoulder, presumably so it wouldn’t rest on the drywall spaces.

Aria clicked her smartphone to the flashlight application, set it on the wood behind her and approached. She returned to her knees, leaned over and pulled on the side of the ladder, keeping an eye on David so she could match his pace. His brass-colored hair was cropped short, matching the stubble across his chin and face.

She’d met David while their parents were attending a conference here, a little over seven years ago. She had been eighteen and he was nineteen. They had kept in touch, seeing each other now and then— especially whenever their parents came to Sand Dollar Shores—but mostly they’d chatted and texted by phone. A couple of years into their friendship they had started to date casually—and long distance at that—he was in California working while she studied in Portland, Oregon.

Sure, they had kissed a few times, but it had never gotten serious over the three years they had dated. Even if it had been serious, that was two years ago—she was twenty-five now, making him twenty-six. She was sure he had moved on, especially given the way things had ended.

She dropped the attic square back in place but her phone’s flashlight illuminated the space. David leaned the ladder horizontally against the side of the attic and wiped away the sweat beaded on his forehead.

She took a deep breath, and her nose itched. “We need to find—” her voice cracked “—George. In case there’s even a hope he’s still alive.”

“That was the first gunshot? They shot George?” His hands curled to fists, resting on his hips, and he bowed his head. Aria wondered if his grief matched her own. “Why would anyone want to shoot that man?”

Aria remained silent for a moment, afraid she’d lose control if she spoke. She focused on the light beam and attempted to explain. “George was accusing them of bamboozling people and...and the men wanted him to the look the other way.”

“But he didn’t.” David cocked his head. “Listen. You don’t hear gunshots anymore, do you? I’m going to guess the fumes knocked them out. At the very least, they should’ve been hit with a severe headache or temporary blindness. I figure I bought us about ten minutes.”

Her fingers brushed against her phone. “Wait. Have you called the police?”

“Haven’t had a chance.”

“I’ll do it now.”

Aria dialed 9-1-1. “It’s after five o’clock. That’s when they transfer all emergency calls to Beachside. They have a bigger police department.”

David paced on the joist, his hands in his pockets. “That’s fifteen minutes away,” he objected.

She nodded in acknowledgment, but what else could she do? They only had one or two policemen on staff in their tiny town. The bigger towns supplied the majority of manpower. The dispatch answered, and Aria didn’t waste any time explaining. “Two gunmen shot a man, and now they’re trying to kill us.” Aria rattled off the conference center address.

“Where are you now? Are you injured?” the dispatcher asked.

“In the attic. We’re not injured...not yet, anyway, but not for their lack of trying.”

“Emergency vehicles are en route. There’s a pileup on Highway 101. It’ll take them a while to clear the road. I’m calling the Summerville sheriff’s office to assist. Please hold.”

Aria tried to picture Summerville’s location. She knew it was south and the last time she’d driven in that direction it’d taken her... “That’s got to be a good thirty minutes away,” Aria cried.

David shook his head. “Come on. They have our address. We don’t have time for this.” He flicked on the light from his phone and shoved it in a shallow part of his tool belt so it would still illuminate the attic. He motioned for her to follow him. “Unless you need more space,” he quipped, his last word filled with hidden meaning.

A sharp sting in her chest rocked her back to her heels. She bit her lip. Literally backed into a corner, she didn’t want to relive that painful time in her life. Her dad had just died, she’d been overwhelmed with handling the arrangements and her mother’s grief, let alone her own. Two days later, David had started a text-and-phone-call campaign wanting to know if she had received his card. At the time, it had felt as if he had sent the condolence only to earn brownie points.

Most all of her mother’s friends had shown up to give support and casseroles—oodles of casseroles—but Aria’s friends showed their love through texts and emails. She understood. It was hard to be around such sorrow in person, and to be honest, she didn’t want to be around any of them and be forced to make chitchat. Tons of sympathy cards arrived in the mail, but she had enough to manage without making time to read the stack, his card included. She knew what they all said, anyway. With sympathy...

“Yes, I received your card,” she had told him on the phone. “But David, I just need some time, some space. This is a little too much for me right now. It’s not personal, I just need—”

“If you need space,” he had responded, his voice shaking, “then we don’t have the kind of relationship I thought we did.”

She had been stunned at the emotion behind his voice, but she hadn’t known what to do. She hadn’t been exaggerating. She really had needed time. The interaction, meant to ease her burden, only made her feel even more alone, something she hadn’t thought possible.

Now, in the attic, she stared at him. David held his hands out. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

She nodded, accepting his apology but not sure she could trust herself to comment. His shoulders sagged forward.

“I can carry the ladder myself,” he said, “but I’m worried I might knock you over in the process.”

She stuck her phone in her pocket, and lifted the back end of the ladder. “You want me to help carry the ladder? I’d be glad to.”

David raked a hand through his hair. “We’re going to twist the ladder so it’s sideways. Think you can carry it under your arm?”

She nodded. The dim light illuminated his form. The past couple of years had widened his shoulders and thickened his already strong arms. David picked up the ladder, waited for her to grab her end and then led the way. Aria put one foot in front of the other. She trained her eyes on the shadowed wooden beam in front of her. “I wish we had more light.”

“We’ll be across before you know it,” he said, his voice lighter. “Good thing I was inspecting the attic today or I might not have known there’s an exit at the opposite side. It’ll be close to the stairway.”

“But then we’ll be out in the open.”

“If we want to get to George, it’s our only hope. Besides, if we stay here, we’re sitting ducks.”

“Why did George hire you in the first place? He didn’t tell me you were coming.”

“Yeah, he didn’t mention anything about you either,” he said, dryly. “He’s been calling me the past two weeks. He had suspicions the contractor was using subpar materials.”

She gasped. “Subpar?”

David’s shadow nodded. “Another reason to watch your step. George was right, and clearly, these gunmen are determined to make sure no one else finds out.”