All I've Ever Wanted - Adrianne Byrd [73]
Something cracked and then gave way. Keenan was suddenly airborne and plummeting down the flight of cement stairs. His body roared with pain while he struggled in vain to stop his fall. His head banged into something hard at the bottom of the stairs. A brilliant flash of stars danced before his eyes.
He groaned and struggled for what seemed like forever before he managed to stand. When he had succeeded, he remained so disoriented that he had to lean against a nearby wall for support.
The gun, he remembered, and looked around for it in the dim light from the doorway above. What had happened to his gun? He had holstered it before he started bashing the door, but there was no sign of it now. The phone had stopped ringing, too, he realized. He touched his head, not at all surprised to feel a thin trail of blood.
“I’m going to kill you for this,” he hissed, taking a step toward the stairs and immediately regretting it. He waited a few more seconds, hoping the feeling of vertigo would pass and he’d be able to actually trust his footing.
Despite his throbbing temples, Keenan was able to discern that he was at a disadvantage. He wouldn’t put up with that for long.
As he started to move again, he kicked something and reached down. It was his gun. He smiled wickedly. The scale had just tipped back in his favor.
As he stood up again, he bumped into something hard and sharp. Why hadn’t he checked the basement out more thoroughly before storming his hostages down here? he thought. The place seemed to be filled with sharp stuff. He halfway expected the old lady to jump out and attack with some rustic tool at any moment.
“Come out, come out wherever you are,” he urged in a singsong voice. When he stopped and strained to hear any signs of life, all he heard was the sound of his own labored breathing.
“I know that you’re in here. You may as well come out now and make it easier on yourself.” Again, he waited, listening, and still there was no response. His anger escalated and his patience snapped.
“Fine, Granny. Suit yourself. I’m going to enjoy putting a bullet in the center of your head, and the little brat, too.” He laughed. “I only wish that your son were still alive to see me finally come out on top.”
The silence stretched. Something was definitely wrong.
FBI’s Mobile Unit
Kennedy hung up the phone. “Something’s wrong. He’s not answering.”
“We just picked up the sound of a gunshot within the house,” said the FBI agent monitoring the van’s listening devices.
Kennedy covered her heart with a trembling hand as she turned toward Max. “Gunshot?”
“I don’t like this. It’s like we’re working with blinders on,” Mason said, a frown marring his features.
Hagan agreed. “Let’s move in.”
“Wait!” Kennedy shouted, not at all comfortable with the speed at which everything was happening. “Is that wise? I mean—”
Max moved to her side and tried to console her. “Baby, let’s let them do their jobs.”
Agents filed out of the van as if heading off to war.
The look in Kennedy’s eyes grew wild as her emotions tumbled out of control. She wasn’t prepared for this. Why were there gunshots? Please, God, don’t do this to me.
Max gathered her into his arms. “It’s going to be all right.”
“You don’t know that,” she said, twisting away. “You don’t know anything.”
Max flinched at her hurtful words, but accepted her rejection with an understanding heart. “You getting upset isn’t going to help things,” he said reassuringly.
Kennedy clamped her mouth shut and nodded in agreement with his logic. When she returned his gaze again, it was with a brave smile. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Just think of me as your shelter from the storm,” he answered.
Kennedy went still.
“Are you okay?” he asked, concerned.
“The shelter. Th-the fallout shelter.”
Max stared at her, dumbfounded.
She grabbed his arm. “There’s an underground fallout shelter with a passage that leads to into the house basement. I had completely forgotten about