Miss No One, Mark Ayre [romantic love story reading .TXT] 📗

crashing into his face, cracking his already damaged skull against the hard floor.

The bald man with the broken jaw went quiet.

Someone else, probably the woman, was descending the stairs. At this point, an ordinary person would panic. Maybe flap. They would undoubtedly flee, desperate to escape before backup arrived and started firing.

Abbie wasn’t ordinary. As though she had dropped her bus pass and was bending to reclaim it, she leaned over and collected Baldie's gun. No rush, no fuss. Two steps to the left, from where the weapon had landed, and Abbie was at Baldie's feet, his body between her and the door through which the stair descender might soon emerge.

Abbie crouched and shifted forward. The gun in a one-handed grip, she covered the door ahead while searching Baldie's jeans and jacket.

No identification, no money, no phone. These guys were professionals. The leader would carry a mobile—no one else.

Two spare clips for the gun. Abbie took them and shoved them in her pocket while pulling her weapon's trigger.

Someone had been easing the door open. Abbie’s bullet smashed the wood; the door swung closed. Whoever stood on the other side would be taking one or two steps back, a little way up the stairs. They'd be formulating plan B.

Abbie had slowed them down. She hadn’t stopped them.

Abbie found something else in Baldie's back pocket. Smiled.

This could be useful.

Casting a final glance at the guy she'd attacked, Abbie rose. He needed hospitalisation, but his team wouldn't take him nor call an ambulance. Nor would they leave him like this. They couldn't risk him talking to the cops. Not that that would be easy. From a practical point of view, that was, given his jaw.

That left two options: take him with, or kill him.

Either was fine by Abbie. She wouldn’t end his life: he was unarmed, defenceless. Nor would she protect him from his people. As far as Abbie was concerned, their business was concluded.

The door opener hadn't come again. Abbie hadn't heard them move but knew they were there, listening. Waiting. There was every chance this was all part of the plan.

The stairs were the only obvious route from the first to the ground floor. Abbie hadn't checked all the rooms upstairs. It was possible Smoker or the mysterious fourth person had found a way to the lot from one of the upstairs windows. Even now, they might be crunching into the gravel, circling the building, preparing to flank and execute Abbie.

Obviously, Abbie couldn't let that happen.

It was time to go.

The shooter on the stairs was listening for Abbie’s every move. If they heard her head for the main exit, they’d burst from the stairwell firing. Put a few bullets in Abbie’s back. End this thing here and now.

That was annoying. If possible, Abbie wanted to further even the odds before leaving.

After shattering Baldie's jaw, Abbie had dropped the metal stool at her side. With one silent step, she brought it within reach.

Time was of the essence. Abbie bent at the waist, collected the stool, turned towards the building's exit.

No sign of the enemy, but Abbie expected company any second.

Leaning back, she swung the chair across the room. As it moved, whistling through the air, so did she, stepping over Baldie's body and to the right of the stairwell door.

She grabbed the handle, pointing her gun towards where the crack was about to appear, at an angle, so the muzzle was aiming up the stairs.

The stool crashed down, hitting a desk, bouncing into the air, and bounding off a window.

Abbie turned the handle, pulled the door back a couple of inches, shoved the gun's barrel into the crack.

The chair bounced off the floor and came down with a dull, echoing thud.

At the same time, Abbie pulled her trigger, once, twice, three times, moving the gun left and right as she did, covering the staircase.

With shot four, she yanked the door wide. With shot five, she stepped through to the foot of the stairs.

The woman had been waiting. When Abbie started firing, she had attempted to flee to the upper floor.

She hadn't got far.

One of Abbie's shots had hit her in the hip, another in the base of her spine. Now she was groaning, sprawled across the stairs.

Her gun was still in her hand.

The echoing of the fallen stool ceased.

"Drop it," said Abbie.

The woman tried to turn. She did not release her gun.

It was all Abbie needed.

Twice more, she pulled the trigger.

The woman fell still.

Abbie took no time to relax in the peace and the silence of her victory. She wasn’t safe yet.

Baldie was out of action. The woman in the stairwell dead.

Two down. Two to go.

Four

Abbie released her gun's magazine, withdrew another. She was reloading as the spent clip hit the ground.

Leaning forward, she took the dead woman's gun and shoved it into her jeans. There wasn't time for another body search. Glancing to the top of the stairs, Abbie could see no one. Couldn't hear anyone, either.

Bad news.

The silence suggested the remaining two enemies had found a way from the upper floor to the gravel lot without recourse to the stairs. They'd left their now dead colleague in the stairwell so she could follow if Abbie tried to escape, but also to limit Abbie's options. They wanted to draw her outside where they planned to execute her.

Which was fine. Now Abbie could turn their plan on its head.

The door at Abbie's back had fallen shut, plunging her into darkness. Leaving her to feel her way up. A more difficult task than previously, when obstacles had not included a dead body.

Abbie made it over the corpse, only standing on her arm in the process, and the going was much simpler after that.

At the top of the stairs, Abbie paused as she had before. Though she couldn't hear anything, there was a chance another enemy stood in the hall beyond, gun extended, waiting.

It was a risk, but so was going out front. This was the lesser of two evils, so Abbie placed