Be Good Mrs. B | Spies, Lies & Butterflies Book #2

17. Reverse Uno

I ducked, hand already gripping my firearm, “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

After a remarkably stealthy start, I was back to staving off bullets. 

I’d begged Terra for a crumb of action, and here I was, scarfing down an entire loaf.

I studied the entry point as another bullet sent a vase clattering in shards to the floor. This was a long-range weapon – clean, precise, and deadly. Some sharp shooter had stood guard, waiting with meticulous patience for me to slip into inattentiveness. 

I snatched the photo, ceramic crunching beneath my feet as I crouched in escape. With scrambling fingers, I pushed my mask back on, hoping the shooter was relying on my heat signature. I stalked down the stairs quietly with my gun held low in front of me in the ready position. 

I hid behind a corner, foregoing the desire to bang my head against the wall behind me. I needed to think. 

There were three entry points that I knew of, but if Titus was who I thought he was, I'd guarantee there was an underground bunker with a tunnel leading to some nondescript grassy knoll. But without time to sort where that might be or how to access it, I was shit out of luck.

Most likely, the shooter had eyes on the back of the property with optimal viewing of the backdoor and the side entrance. They sat elevated.

I stuffed the image in the front pocket of my suit, exhaling a concentrating breath.

I wouldn’t cower to Nathan's lackeys. 

Like a choreography I'd performed a thousand times, I approached the front door. I squinted through the gauzy muslin drapery Meredith had surely picked out to match the interior color scheme. 

I couldn't see anyone from my vantage point, but I knew they were out there. Shooting from behind so that I was delivered into the hands of whoever manned the front. 

In a slow ascent, I dropped to my knees, opting to crawl instead of walk. Engaging my core, I began my high crawl, my stomach, thighs, and forearms on the ground as I pulled myself toward the back entrance. 

Although my muscles were tensed for action, I had greater fluidity than I'd remembered.

I was suddenly grateful for the yoga classes I'd been forced to participate in.

With bated breath, I searched my surroundings in the dark.

Staring back at me as if it were beckoning me, I lifted to pick up a decorative figurine perched on the ledge of a coat rack. 

It was heavy. 

In the darkness, I could see the dimly lit screen of my watch, numbers increasing like wildfire.

I licked my lips and aimed, sending the stone statuette crashing into a low window opposite me. 

The milliseconds on my watch ticked as shots rang out. I slipped through the ajar door, sprinting like a trained madwoman. 

It wouldn't take those idiots long to realize I was on the run.

On autopilot, my feet sped, propelling me into a zigzag pattern. 

The good thing about a long range was its precision – combined with the acuity of a shooter? It was lethal.

The bad thing? That kind of setup required stillness; it required perfect timing.

The shots of a handgun rang out from behind me, but I hadn't time to turn around.

I ran in a zigzag, switching up my pacing so that it was unpredictable.

I approached the back gate, jumping as I swung my hips upward.

A sharp pain in my shoulder didn't deter me as I walked up the wall, hooking my right foot as I’d done before – as I'd done so many times before.

I jumped down, rolling into my descent, unable to see the ground clearly.

Slowing only to snatch up my backpack, I kept going, gaze focused on what was ahead of me.

The sharp shooter was surely collecting his equipment by now. I had no idea where the shooter on foot could be. 

My adrenaline remained spiked as I ate the yards between my person and the car. 

Sweat pooled at my sternum and under my chest as I focused on dragging in deep breaths. 

The car came into view.

I flung the door open, clamoring into the driver's seat. Shots ricocheted off of the car as I jammed the key into the ignition. Dirt and gravel kicked up behind me as I swerved out of the spot.

I ducked as the driver's side-view mirror shattered. 

Looking in my rearview, I spoke into the watch with forced focus, “Call Giuseppe.”

A woman in all black jogged in the rearview mirror as she fired at the car.

Giuseppe was in a friendly mood, his voice light and mocking, “What? You don't like the car I sent you? I know it isn't a keyless –”

My voice was loud albeit calm, “Pepe, I'm being shot at!  I don't know if it's B605 or Nathan or, or wh–”

Giuseppe was in a full panic as he whispered, “Cazzo! Anabelle! Where are you?”

A spray of bullets rang out. 

My hands trembled as my heart frantically pumped blood through its ventricles. 

“Do you need an extraction? Let me track your coordinates.” 

The singe of a bullet grazing my good shoulder sent blood spilling in a warm, slow leak down my good shoulder. 

My nostrils flared as I tugged the mask off, “Shit.”

The woman fired again, the bullet missing me altogether but splintering the rear windshield. Her pacing slowed as she drew closer, her gun still trained on me.

I could hear the clacking of Giuseppe's keyboard, “I have another vehicle approaching on the road – can't confirm whether it's a threat. You're cutting it close.”

My recovering shoulder spasmed under the duress.

Slamming on the breaks, I halted, my heart and my mind stuttering simultaneously. I eyed the woman in the rearview as she stalked closer.

My brain buzzed.

Pepe pleaded, “Ana! Minchia! Say something!”

I maneuvered the gear shift into reverse, watching the woman’s hold on the firearm lower just slightly.  

My foot pressed the gas before my brain could catch up.

The woman threw the fire arm down, reaching for another with efficiency and speed.

She only managed to fire two shots before the car sent her hurling into the ground. I pumped the brakes, the car bouncing with the effort.

Pepe was whisper-yelling again, “Annie?!”

My hands shook uncontrollably as I watched her listless body in the passenger’s side view mirror.

I hated it. I loathed it. But I wouldn't be bullied.

Swallowing the rising bile in my throat, I didn't wait to see if she was okay before speeding off into the night.