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She might just get the chance, Trev thought. He picked up the shotgun and made his way toward the door. |
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She'd claimed there were no bodies in the house. She could've been lying. But he wanted to believe her. If Maureen wasn't dead in the house, then she might still be alive. Either in the house, hiding, or away somewhere. |
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So how do you play it? he wondered. |
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Maureen didn't seem like the kind of woman to run and hide if she realized someone was breaking into her house. Hell, no. She'd attack. |
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But who's to say the intruder went in alone? She could've been with a whole gang. Just because she'd claimed to be there by herself, lonesome . . . |
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They jumped him as he stepped out onto the sidewalk. One leaped onto his back and hooked an arm around his throat. Another, a skinny naked man, came in from the front driving a knife toward his chest. He rammed the muzzle of his shotgun into the knifeman's belly and pulled the trigger. As the blast slammed the guy away, he pumped a fresh shell into the chamber. |
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He pivoted, planning to ram backward against the doorframe, and saw a third assailant, out of sight until now because the damn hood killed his peripheral vision. This one swung a baseball bat at his face. He had no time to aim. He tugged the trigger. The shotgun bucked. Its load ripped through the man's upper arm, tore it away in a mess of flying tissue and bone, and spun him. |
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