Ruth Lee
The cold barrel of the shotgun stared at me like an unblinking eye, a harbinger of death. My legs went jelly, and my throat closed as if the fear had clawed its way up to strangle me. The man holding the gun didn't flinch. Not a tremor in his grip. He'd done this before — too many times.
Who the hell are you people?" My voice broke, more of a plea than a question. I hated how weak I sounded, but I couldn't help it. "Why are you after me?"
The man's lips curled into a cruel smirk. "Oh, so you're the one they've been hiding?"
"Hiding?" I shook my head. My pulse was pounding in my ears. "I don't know what you're talking about. What do you mean?
He cocked his head to one side, studying me like some puzzle he couldn't quite solve. "Did you come alone?"
"Yes," I lied, my voice trembling. I did not trust my body to keep still-so I clutched the edge of the counter behind me and crossed my fingers he didn't catch my trembling fingers.
