Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 110360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Like a beacon of hope, Marty’s voice came from the other side of the wooden barrier. “Lofton, open up.”
My chest exploded, an audible burst of relief tearing from my lungs as I darted to the door. My hand was already on the knob when suddenly I froze. A small voice in the back of my mind screamed with caution.
Was it truly safe to unlock the only barrier of safety we had left?
“Lofton,” Marty called, weak and desperate. Predictably reading my mind, he rumbled, “It’s just me. Nobody else.”
My fears fueled my indecision. But it was Marty. I’d trusted him with my life for over sixteen years. He would never steer me wrong. With my heart in my throat, I slowly unlocked and then cracked open the door. I put my eye to the narrow slit. At the sight of him, relief flooded my chest—until his knees buckled.
“Oh God!” I gasped as the door cracked me in the forehead. Pain exploded behind my eyes, but I managed to catch his body as he fell into the bathroom. The phone went skidding across the tile as his weight dragged us both down to the floor.
“No, no, no!” I chanted as I scrambled from beneath him and knelt at his side.
Blood—so much blood—covered him.
He grunted as he rolled over. Using incredible effort, he slid himself backward to prop his shoulders against the vanity. Through it all, his gun was held tight in his palm.
“Shit, you’re bleeding.” His tired gaze flicked to my forehead. “It’s okay. You’re safe now.”
The blood pooling from his back said otherwise, but lie or not, those words were all it took for Zoey to believe him.
“Marty!” she cried, bursting out of the closet.
Blinded by fear, she didn’t seem to grasp his condition. I tried to catch her as she darted past me, but she flew toward him like she’d been launched from a catapult.
He let out a deep groan as she plowed into his side, crying, “I want my mommy.”
He curled a weak arm around her trembling body. “Shhh, I got ya.” Lifting his eyes to mine, he ordered, “Nine-one-one.”
I pivoted on my knees and grabbed my phone off the floor. “I already called.”
He lifted a shaking hand. “Give it to me. You go lock that door.”
Nodding, I dove into action. My feet slipped on the tile as I slammed the door and twisted the flimsy lock. It was an insult of a barrier between us and an armed madman.
Marty rasped into the receiver. “Male suspect—” He broke into a violent cough. “Six feet. Dark clothes. Ski mask. Armed. I got one man down, a couple of holes in my chest, and a woman and kid scared out of their minds. Suspect took off out the back door, heading southwest. We need police and medical now.” He paused. “Yeah. That’s right. I’ll leave the line open, but I’m putting you down. I gotta secure this room.”
I heard the operator reply as he dropped the phone, but her voice barely touched the storm of panic roaring in my skull.
“Lofton,” Marty prompted before extending the butt of his weapon toward me. “You gotta do this.”
I leaned away as if he were offering me a snake. I didn’t know the first thing about guns, much less how to properly use one. “What? No, I can’t—”
“You can.” His gaze hardened despite the glossy haze in his dark brown eyes. “If I pass out, someone needs to guard that door.”
“You said he was gone?”
“He is. But I’m not taking any chances he comes back. I get you’re scared.”
“I’m a little more than scared here, Marty.” I choked.
“It’s okay.” He tried to force a smile, but it came off as a grimace. “You’re not drowning, kiddo. And even if you were, it’s impossible for you to sink.” He chuckled softly, in a way he usually reserved for the good times. And oh, God, had we had some of the absolute best times.
I was sixteen when he escorted me to a Comic-Con. My first public appearance after a low-budget indie film somehow exploded into an overnight box-office phenomenon. I was so nervous when I got out of the car, fans and paparazzi rushing us. He simply hooked me around the waist, told me to look down and keep walking, and he’d handle the rest.
And he did, for well over a decade.
He was there the night I won my Oscar, standing just offstage while my name echoed through a room I didn’t believe I belonged in. He was there for the first premiere that felt too big, the first red carpet where the flashbulbs sounded like gunfire, and the first time someone screamed my name like it was theirs to claim.
He watched me buy my first house, then upgrade to a mansion when the paychecks started to grow. He danced at my wedding and then stood guard at closed doors while I fell apart during my divorce. He covered my face and guided me through crowds when my mother died and I couldn’t afford to be seen breaking down.