The pain wassecondary, though, to her need to breathe.
She no longercried out or protested; she needed what little air was left in her lungs tostay conscious. If she passed out now, it would all be over.
The man’s knifemoved again, this time angling toward her throat. He sat on her, straddling herchest, his legs on either side of her, pinning one of her arms and trapping herabdomen. Her bleeding hand jutted forward, catching the knife before it slicedher throat.
It cut her palmthis time, sending another spasm of pain through her already mangled hand.
A squeak of painescaped her lips, and the man stopped humming to snarl in frustration. Hesliced down again, but this time, with her bloody hand, Adele managed to flingher palm out and catch his wrist.
He was strong,but not unusually so. She held his wrist tight, shoving his hand back.
The man whimperedlike a scalded child. He tried to dislodge her grip, shifting a bit, pushingeven more air from Adele’s body.
Now, the blackspots had returned. She was gasping, but no air managed to enter her crushed,compressed lungs. Where is John? she thought, vaguely.
The man keptyanking his arm, trying to dislodge it. And, in one last, desperate play, asdarkness closed in and consciousness fled, Adele released her grip and flungher bleeding hand toward the man’s face. Hot droplets of crimson speckled hisnose and cheek. Her hand slapped against his eyes and the blood pouring fromher fingers drenched his face, momentarily filling his eyes.
The man howledand reflexively, his hands darted to clear his gaze. A human could always beexpected to maintain their vision—it was a primal instinct Adele had beencounting on.
Now, with bothhis hands arching toward his eyes, she had a brief window where the knife wasn’ta threat. She lunged again for her gun, no longer breathing. Her head poundedin pain from a lack of oxygen. Her motion was weak—in this fading state, she’doverestimated her ability to move quickly.
With sluggishmotions, though, her fingers, still slick with blood, grappled the butt of herfirearm. But the blood made the gun slick. Her fingers slipped off it.
The man hadmanaged to wipe his eyes now. And he took only the faintest moment to steadyhimself and blink, before slashing at her again with the blade.
Nothing for it.She simply turned her head and jerked to the side. A necessary sacrifice.
She felt painacross her cheek and down her ear. The slice was deep—the knife sharp. Still,if she’d tried to catch it again, she would have died in moments. Only a fewseconds of air left. Her fingers scraped the slippery gun again. The man beganto cut again, this time leaning forward a bit to reach her neck.
At the samemoment, she finally managed to snare her gun—he was single-mindedly focused nowon her throat.
A costlymistake.
Another cut nowacross her neck, shallow at first, but she could feel the blade dragging almostin slow motion as she brought her weapon around at the same time.
She couldn’tangle her arm, due to his extended hands, to get a clean shot. Now, the soundwas all she needed. Distraction. Wake John. Desperation.
She fired twice.
The man and hisknife jerked back as if he’d been torched. But he moved too quickly to havebeen hit. Far too quickly.
Adele, gaspingnow, desperately gulping in air, lay on the floor, her vision still clearing.It took her a moment to clear her vision; as she did, she glimpsed a shadow ofmotion hurtling toward the kitchen.
Gasping, chestheaving, she pushed herself up as quickly as possible, but the rapid motioncaused her head to swim and she jerked back down, half sitting, half lying,still gathering her thoughts in a pool of blood widening down her cheek andbeneath her hand.
Still, pain wassecondary.
The bastardcouldn’t be allowed to escape.
He’d fled towardthe kitchen: a mistake. The windows in the kitchen were barred, the doorreinforced per agency standards. He didn’t have the key; he was trapped. Or wasshe the one trapped?
“John!” shemanaged to shout up the stairs in a strangled, rasping voice.
She could hearrapid movements. The sound of footsteps from the kitchen. Then, nothing.
Adele bunchedher hand in her shirt, wrapping the fabric around the wound, and switched herfirearm to her weaker hand. She’d never practiced off-hand shooting much, butnow it was all she had.
Then,desperately hoping John had woken, she moved toward the kitchen doorway, eyesforward.
“Give it up!”she called, still breathing heavily. “There’s only two ways out of that room. Abody bag or cuffs. Don’t be stupid—this is over!”
No answer.
Adele scrapedher shoulder blades against the wall, approaching the kitchen. They’d lockedthe door? Hadn’t they? She was sure they’d locked it.
“Give it up!”she called again, raising her voice louder than necessary in a hope to wakeJohn.
Again, noanswer. A pause.
Then, the soundof humming.
The strange,melodic noise sent chills up Adele’s spine and she swallowed back the fear inher gut. Something about bleeding, gasping, caught off guard in a locked housebrought out a more instinctual part of her. But she needed to remember hetraining, to suppress her emotions. Fear was the enemy.
“Come out!” shecalled. Her shoulder pressed against the ridged wooden frame of the kitchendoorway.
She hesitated,feeling her cheek sticky against the wall. From within the kitchen, the hummingpersisted, low, eerie in the dark.
It was comingfrom behind the fridge.
Adele leaned in,keeping her eyes fixed on the fridge. She licked her lips and moved into thekitchen, stepping sidelong. She kept her weapon focused on her off hand, herinjured palm still snared in the hem of her shirt.
“Get out frombehind there!” she barked.
The large, metalfridge was like the belly of a broad man, blocking her vision of the alcovebehind it.
She circled theroom, keeping as much distance between herself and the fridge as she could asshe tried to gain line-of-sight. She checked her weapon and felt her handtrembling—for a moment, she felt like Masse. With her weaker hand, she did herbest to maintain a shooter’s crouch, but the strange whistling, the blood loss,the fear of the moment were weighing on her.
Finally, sherounded the wall across from the fridge, facing the darkness
