Protecting Dallas
Go! Get your gun!
I sprinted back to the kitchen, throwing open the second to last drawer. Silverware flew everywhere, clinking noisily against the tiled floor. My hand reached in, scrambling around to the back…
…and pulled out my Glock.
I sank back against the refrigerator, holding the weapon out before me with both hands. I flipped off the safety. Chambered a round.
The stainless steel was cold against my skin as I waited.
A minute went by. Then two minutes. Three. I strained to hear even the slightest sound; the breaking of glass, the creak of a door or window sliding against its frame. But I heard nothing. I saw no one.
“DALLAS!”
The voice came from the door again. It was pounding. Shaking. The shouting was louder than ever.
“Dallas, OPEN UP!”
I cocked my head sideways.
“MADDOX?”
“Yes! It’s me!” The door handle shook violently. “Open up!”
I flew back to the door and slammed the bolt home. Maddox entered the foyer with a wild look in his eye, chest heaving, out of breath.
“Are you okay?”
I flew into his arms, being careful to keep the gun pointed away from him. Then I began shaking. Shuddering all over, as I melted into him.
“Hey, hey…” he said, crushing me in his big arms. “It’s okay. I got you.” He smoothed my hair with his hands. “I got you…”
Gingerly he took the gun and uncocked it before sliding it back into my palm. His hands went to either of my shoulders.
“T—There was this guy,” I blurted quickly. “He came from out of nowhere! And he was—”
“I know. I saw him.” His eyes did an expert-level scan in every direction. “I chased him three blocks at least, maybe more. He’s gone now.”
“Okay…”
“Anyone else?”
I shook my head. “No. I don’t think so.”
“Alright,” he said, still looking everywhere at once. “Get whatever you need. We’re going. Now.”
“Going where?”
“Anywhere but here,” he said, sticking close by my side.
Twenty-Seven
DALLAS
Ten minutes and several miles later, my pulse was still racing. Maddox’s cool composure however, was calming me down.
“Who was that guy?”
“A scout.”