Glitter and Gunfire/Bulletproof (Shadow Agents 4)

She was sitting with her legs curled toward her body. This time she wasn’t packing a knife in her ankle holster. Her boots hid a small gun that was secured to her ankle. Her right hand slid down, and her fingers locked around the weapon. “Get away from me.”

He laughed.

“Let me go!”

“No. I’m going to make you scream.”

The way her mother had screamed? Screamed for me to hide. Screamed and said, “Close your eyes, ma petite. Close your eyes!”

Only Cassidy hadn’t closed her eyes.

She didn’t close them now, either. She yanked up that gun, and she fired at him.

The bullet tore right through him and flew toward the front of the vehicle.

Cassidy’s captor stumbled back, roaring in pain and shock.

And another cry, pain-filled, just as shocked, came from the front of the vehicle. Then the van swerved, twisted—

Cassidy leaped to her feet. She shoved open the back door of the van. Wind whipped against her body. This was her chance. She was taking it.

The black pavement blurred beneath her eyes. It would hurt. But pain was better than dying.

She sucked in a sharp breath.

“No! Stop—”

Cassidy jumped onto the pavement. She hit hard, rolled and felt the flesh tear from her hands and arms.

The van slammed on the brakes, and the scent of burning rubber filled her nose. Cassidy knew that she had to get up, she had to run, so she staggered to her feet. She stepped forward—and fell again. Her ankle throbbed painfully.

Then she heard the sirens. The sweet, beautiful sirens that were getting closer, closer, and she lifted her head and just saw the flash of red lights coming toward her.

She tried to crawl toward those lights.

The van’s tires squealed as the vehicle rushed away.

Cassidy kept crawling toward those lights.

* * *

CALE SHOVED DOWN the brake the instant that the patrol car’s headlights fell on Cassidy. He’d taken that damn vehicle, rushed over to Brookley, burning rubber, and he’d desperately searched the surrounding streets.

His palms were sweating, his heart racing.

And Cassidy—his Cassidy—was crawling in the middle of the road.

He threw open the door and rushed toward her. “Cassidy!”

He’d raced to another scene, on another street, so many years before. He’d found the bodies of his parents.

Seen his little sister...

She’d been alive.

So was Cassidy.

* * *