Perfect Strangers

Bullets whistle over our heads and embed themselves into the wall behind us, spraying chunks of plaster. The acrid stench of gunpowder burns my nose. I gape at him, holding my hands over my ears.

“You’re probably thinking it’s a little quick, but when you know, you know. We’ll talk about it later. In the meantime, think about where you might want to honeymoon. Just my two cents, but I’ve always thought Bora Bora is incredibly romantic. There’s a Four Seasons I’ve stayed at there that’s amazing. But if you’re not into the beach thing, I’m open to suggestions.”

He hops up onto his knees and starts firing again. Whoever is trying to kill him—us?—fires back. Between shots, I hear the distant wail of sirens.

I truly regret not drinking more of those midget bottles of liquor from the minibar.

James jumps to his feet, grabs my wrist, and hauls me up so I’m standing.

The room is thick with smoke. The hotel room door is riddled with bullet holes and hanging off two of its hinges. The bleeding bodies of four large men in tactical gear litter the entryway floor.

My trusty scream shrivels up in my throat and refuses to make an appearance.

I teeter sideways, about to slither back down to the floor, but James grabs me by the waist.

“Woah! Hey. Look at me.”

When I rip my horrified gaze from the corpses and train it on him, he’s grinning at me. “You’re doing great.” He plants a firm kiss on my lips. “But we gotta go now. Just hang onto my hand and don’t let go. Okay?”

Deep in shock, I nod like a bobblehead, planning on running away from him and finding a police station the second I get the chance.

James leads me by the hand out of the demolished hotel room, stopping only to sling my purse over his shoulder and grab my suitcase before we go.