She heard Marvin’s voice in her head: You don’t shoot once and then check. Or hit once, either. You keep going until the threat isn’t a threat anymore.
She fired again. And again. Each impact caused the man to twitch, but he was still holding the table leg, still on top of Dash—
She fired a fourth time. And then heard Marvin again: Front sights on the target. Gorilla grip. Roll the trigger.
She squeezed the grip hard. Lined up the sights on the back of the man’s head. Eased out a breath. And rolled the trigger.
BAM! The gun kicked. A fountain of blood erupted from the right side of the man’s head. He fell to his side.
She heard a crash and spun again. The door to the library—a man was running through it. He was holding a gun. He saw her. Evie brought up the gun, but the man was too fast—he dove behind the checkout desk.
She heard Marvin again: Don’t confuse cover and concealment. Concealment is something you hide behind. Cover means the bullets can’t go through.
Could she shoot through the desk? But if she didn’t hit him, she’d be wasting bullets. And their own position was exposed—
“Evelyn!” the man yelled from behind the desk. “Don’t shoot. I’m not here to hurt you. Marvin sent me. He gave me a message so you would know I am who I say I am. Are you listening? Can we talk?”
Evie was suddenly paralyzed again. Could it be true? But what if it was another trick?
In her peripheral vision, she saw Dash roll to his knees. He picked up the table leg and stood. She wanted to check him, to touch him, to make sure he was all right. And tell him to hide again, to make himself small, there was another man with a gun.
But she had to stay focused. Panting, she managed to say, “Tell me. The message.”
“Marvin told me to tell you that the Orioles should never have traded Machado to Los Angeles. I don’t even know what that means, okay? But that’s what Marvin told me to tell you.”
Manny Machado had been Dash’s favorite player with the Orioles. Marvin had given him Manny’s walk-off home run ball when they’d first met. And Dash had been heartbroken when the Orioles had traded Manny to the Dodgers. No one else would have known all that. It had to be Marvin.
“Okay?” the man said again. “Can I come out?”
“Yes,” Evie said, her hands beginning to shake. “But . . . slowly.” She realized she was still on her knees and came to her feet. The moment she stood, a bolt of pain shot through her left ankle.
“I’m going to start with my hands,” the man called back. “Okay? You’ll see they’re empty. And then the rest of me. Now I know you’re scared. If you’re pointing a gun toward me, please lower it, okay?”
“Let me see your hands first.” She realized her voice was shaking now, too.
A pair of empty hands appeared above the desk. “Okay? Now it’s your turn. Lower the gun. We don’t want to have an accident.”
She was suddenly suspicious. “How do you even know I’m pointing it at you?” she called out.
“Because I would be. Now listen. I’m going to move very slowly. But I want you to tell me first you’re not pointing a gun at me.”
She wanted to believe him so much. But she was afraid to. Still, as long as she could see his hands, it seemed safe to lower the gun.
A little.
She lowered it. “Okay,” she said. “It’s down. Not that much, though. So don’t try anything funny.”
The words sounded strange as they came out, like something she would have heard in a movie. She had an odd feeling of dissociation. Was any of this really happening?