Chapter 6 - Dark Corridor
Lena dropped to the floor, her survival instincts taking over before thought could register.
"Down!" she hissed, reaching out in the pitch black and dragging Eleanor off her chair.
Through the thin wooden door of the apartment, the heavy thud of the two protective marshals hitting the hallway carpet sent vibrations through the floorboards. There was no shouting, no sirens—only the rhythmic, methodical crunch of tactical boots stepping over the bodies.
"The fire escape," Eleanor whimpered, crawling frantically on hands and knees toward the rear bedroom window. "Lena, come on!"
Lena didn't follow immediately. In the dark, she reached onto the side table, grabbing a heavy glass lamp and wrenching the cord from the wall. She positioned herself behind the entry door just as the brass lock clicked open from the outside.
A sliver of pale hallway light filtered in as the door swung inward. A tall man in night-vision goggles moved across the threshold, his rifle sweeping the living room in tight, trained arcs.
He took two paces inside, his weapon tracking toward the rear bedroom where Eleanor was struggling with the jammed window latch.
Lena didn't hesitate. Gathering every ounce of strength left in her battered frame, she swung the heavy ceramic lamp into the back of the shooter's helmet.
The impact shattered the lamp with a loud crack. The man stumbled forward, his rifle firing a wild burst into the drywall. He didn't drop, but the blow disoriented him long enough for Lena to kick the back of his knee, sending him crashing down onto the coffee table.
"Mom, open the window now!" Lena screamed, lunging for the fallen operative’s sidearm holstered at his hip.
Her fingers closed around the textured grip, pulling the gun free just as the intruder rolled over, sweeping an arm out to knock her off her feet. Lena fell hard against the carpet, pointing the pistol upward into the dark.
"Freeze!" she cried out.
A sudden flare of light blinded her. A flashlight clicked on from the doorway.
Standing in the frame was Detective Miller, his service weapon drawn, chest heaving. Behind him lay a second downed operative.
"Drop the weapon, Lena!" Miller shouted, his voice echoing in the confined space. "Drop it right now!"
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Lena froze, her finger hovering over the trigger. But as she looked past Miller’s shoulder, she saw something that made her blood turn to ice.
Miller wasn't wearing his badge. And pinned to his tactical tactical vest was the exact same insignia patch as the men who had just attacked them.
