The Drafter

Peri’s leg hurt, and she ran her hand down the side of her calf. Sticky? Her fingers were red.

Crap. When did I get shot?

“Fall back! Fall back now!” came faintly through the gaping doorway, and Peri’s head snapped up. It was Bill, and if he was leaving, he had something he wanted, because he sure as hell didn’t have her. Ears ringing and the stink of gunpowder thick in her nose, Peri sank back down behind the desk, her hand clamped on her throbbing leg as she watched a man crawl to the door. If Bill was here, Allen probably was too. This has potential.

“Where’s my daughter!” Fran screamed as she fired on everyone running for the door. Peri ducked, and when she looked up through the sifting dust, the crawling man was unmoving, his neck contorted at an unnatural-looking angle.

“I said fall back!” Peri heard Bill cry out again from outside amid more firing.

“You okay?” Silas called as he found her, looking fantastic with that semiautomatic rifle propped on his hip. It was pointed at the ceiling, but smoke was coming from it, and he put his hand up when Fran screamed at him, gun shaking as she pointed it in their direction.

“Shit, Fran! It’s me!” he shouted at her. “Get control. They’re leaving.”

“They have Taf!” she raged, face red and coiffed hair flying. Fran was looking at Peri, and she felt herself blanch, sitting half behind a desk and holding her leg as it slowly leaked. “They have my daughter,” Fran said, her voice breaking as she fell against a shot-up couch and let her weapon slip from her. “Peri, please. Get her back for me. They’re going to use her, hurt her until I give them whatever they want. She’s my daughter!”

Peri’s hands were red as she ripped the silk couch throw to bind up her leg. The bullet was still in there, but it hadn’t cut though anything but muscle. Fran might be domineering, obnoxious, and simply wrong, but she loved her daughter. Maybe they could find something together that Peri had no hope of finding with her own mother. “Okay,” she said, and Fran almost sobbed.

“You’re shot,” Silas said, pale, and Peri pushed him back with a bloody hand before he could touch it. Why did they always try to touch it?

“I’ll be fine.” But her stomach lurched when she tightened the knot. “I’ll get Taf,” she said as she stood, reaching for the desk when vertigo threatened. She could pass out later. It doesn’t matter that I don’t remember why I care about her. I feel. I know.

“Thank you,” Fran whispered, and Peri glanced at the ceiling when a loud, ominous thump came from above. Dust sifted down.

“You can’t do this,” Silas protested. Peri edged around him, weaving through the broken glass and chipped stone for the door, but her pace slowed at a stabbing pain. It’s not that bad, she told herself, her grip on her weapon slick with sweat. “I’ll find her.”

“Damn-fool woman.” Silas kicked a fallen chair out of the way as he strode after her. His eyes were pinched with stress, and he glanced at Fran before taking Peri’s arm and slowing her down. “Peri, don’t shoot Allen,” Silas said, and she squinted at him. She could smell the house burning, and smoke was rolling down the stairs like fog. Fran was losing more than her daughter today. The house was a wash.

“Why not?” she asked him, and he stared blankly at her. “Why can’t I shoot Allen?” she asked again as they paused on the porch. Thunder, real thunder this time, rolled back and forth between the hills. Two men and a woman were running to the helicopter waiting to the left of the pool. Well, the men were running. Taf was kicking and screaming.

“Help me get that bird in the air,” she said, bringing her rifle up.

“Peri!” Silas shouted, and then her ears went numb as she fired half the magazine at it.

The helicopter took off at the first clink of a bullet, long before Bill reached it. He slid to a stop, pushing Taf at Allen when he turned to the house and saw her standing on the threshold of the burning house. Clearly angry, he shoved them both toward the nearby detached show garage.

“Where’s Howard?” she asked as she lowered the weapon. She’d try to take them both out from here, but she wouldn’t risk hitting Taf.

“Doing his doctor thing,” Silas said, and then he sighed and started down the log steps. “Well, let’s get them before they steal one of Fran’s cars.”

Shaking her head to get her ear to work, Peri limped after Silas, following the sounds of Taf screaming insults as she was dragged through the manicured gardens. There was a thump of a door closing, and Taf’s protests were gone.

“I’m serious. Don’t kill Allen,” Silas said again as they approached the building, where a shiny red Ferrari gleamed just past the glass garage doors.

“Look, my ear isn’t working really well right now, but I could have sworn you just said don’t kill Allen.” Peri tried the heavy door, finding it locked.

“That’s exactly what I said,” Silas said as she limped to the front of the garage, eyeing the midlife-crisis mobile through the first glass garage door. “No!” he shouted, hand raised as she lifted the Glock this time.

Teeth clenched, she did a controlled burst to take out the entire door. It crashed to the ground and shattered, missing the car. “And the rolling icon of testosterone is fine,” she said as Silas came up from his instinctive crouch. “Let’s go.”

Taf’s screams for help drew them on, and Peri limped fast, passing sleek cars on raised rugs and under spotlights. Someone was a car hog. “Let me go!” Taf howled, and Peri pushed into a controlled jog. If we don’t get her in the next thirty seconds … ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">