“We don’t want any trouble,” she said. When the cylinder was on the floor, she warily raised the other hand.
He said nothing, taking a calculated step forward. With every foot, his accuracy increased exponentially. Adriana stayed on her knees with hands in the air, but in the back of her mind, she knew that if she didn’t make a move soon, shaved head would execute them both and take the painting. Her rucksack was less than ten inches away from her right knee. The top was still open, her salvation, the .40-caliber Springfield, rested inside.
She sensed a sudden movement to her left.
Allyson dove for her own bag, shoving her hand inside as shaved head’s barrel erupted in a flash of fire. The chair closest to her at the end of the row splintered instantly amid the barrage. She felt the cold metal against her fingers and drew the pistol out, taking aim in one motion. She’d chambered a round before leaving the hotel for just such an emergency. But before she could pull the trigger, a round found her torso just below the right ribcage. Another tore through her trapezius muscle in the right shoulder. She yelped and fell over onto her side, the hand holding the gun slapping limp against the floor.
Adriana’s instincts kicked in. She rolled to the right, dipping her hand into the rucksack and whipping out her own gun. Her finger worked quickly, unleashing a furious hailstorm of hot metal at the attacker. Shaved head’s response was fast. He ducked low behind a row of chairs, moving to her left as he did, advancing rapidly toward the painting and Allyson’s body.
He fired four shots in quick succession underneath the seats of the chairs, between the wooden legs. Three were recklessly inaccurate, but one narrowly missed Adriana’s head, skipping by off the stone as she continued to roll toward the other side of the room.
She scrambled to a crouching position then took off at a sprint, staying as low as possible, going hard to the center aisle. He fired another three rounds in her direction, missing, but not by much. The fact that he was close with his aim in spite of his movement told her all she needed to know. This guy was a professional.
When Adriana cleared the row into the center aisle, she turned right and dashed for the front. Flimsy, old, and thin, the parishioner chairs wouldn’t provide much cover. The altar, however, was made from heavy oak and would buy her some time as a shield.
Shaved head made it to the end of the row next to the wall just as Adriana dove behind the altar. He squeezed off the rest of the magazine until the weapon clicked. It was enough time for her to stand up and pop off a few replies of her own. His head twitched at the first bullet that ricocheted behind him. He dropped to one knee, ejected the empty magazine, and replaced it with one from inside his jacket within four seconds. He yanked back the slide and took aim once more, firing three more rounds at Adriana.
She took cover behind the thick altar. Bullets burrowed into the front but didn’t pierce the wood. She spun around the side, drew a bead on the man in black, and fired again.
Allyson’s side burned. On top of that, she felt a stinging, sharp pain just below her ribs. The same sensation pulsed from just over her collarbone. Her eyes tried desperately to blink away the blurry vision before her. She lay motionless amid the chaos around her. The bitter smell of gunpowder filled her nose. Guns were going off in different directions. The sounds were muffled, though. Suppressors. Her mind snapped back to the moment.
When the bullets struck her, Allyson fell back and hit the floor. That explained the pounding on the side of her head. She’d been knocked unconscious for a minute, maybe a few. It was difficult to tell. Everything came rushing back to her as the firefight raged around her. The church. Adriana. The painting. The man with the shaved head. Crap. The painting. It was only a few feet away from her right hand. She started to reach out and grab it when another gunshot popped nearby. It came from behind her and not far away.
Allyson noticed movement on the other side of the room. She narrowed her eyes to focus better. It was Adriana. She was running. Was she trying to escape? Allyson watched the other woman dart behind the altar in the front of the chapel and continue firing at their attacker. She sensed movement behind her a second before a chair was knocked over and more shots were fired. Another chair creaked on the floor. The man was coming close. He was going for the painting. She twisted her head as he stepped over her, reaching out for the cylinder. Her reaction was instant. Allyson kicked her right foot out as hard as she could, locking the assassin’s two legs together. His momentum carried him forward without his feet moving, sending him toppling to the floor.
Instinctively, he put out his elbows to brace his fall, which was a mistake on the hard stone. The bones hit the floor and sent a shuddering pain through his arms. Allyson pushed herself up. The room spun around in a diagonal rotation but she managed to grab a nearby chair and brace herself long enough to regain focus. Her fingers wrapped around the chair back and she lifted it high overhead as the attacker recovered and rolled over. He raised his weapon to fire, but it was too late. With her last ounce of energy, Allyson swung the wooden chair down as hard as she could. The entire back of it smashed into the man’s face and the stone tiles behind his head. Wood pieces splintered through the air and scattered on the floor around him. His hand holding the gun fell limp.
She winced again and nearly collapsed. Her right hand pressed against the wound in her side. It did little to stem the thick crimson leaking from her body. Her fingers dripped with blood as she knelt down on one knee and removed the weapon from the attacker’s hand. She took aim and pulled the trigger, sending a round into his temple. Angrily, she fired another and another until his face and skull were hardly recognizable. When the weapon clicked, she dropped it to the floor, nearly in tears.
Adriana peeked around the corner of the altar and took in the scene. She rushed out of her hiding spot and ran over to where Allyson wavered on bended knee. Just as the American fell sideways, Adriana caught her in both arms and eased her down.
Allyson swallowed hard. Her eyes flicked back and forth, searching the ceiling for something. Then they fixed on Adriana. “Sorry I’m not going to be able to finish this with you.”
Adriana had never seen emotion from Allyson. It was the first sign of humanity she’d witnessed from the thief. She glanced down at the wound. “We need to get you to a hospital.”
Allyson laughed and then coughed. She shook her head. “No hospitals. I’m done.” Her head rolled to the right, and she looked at the cylinder on the floor beyond the hitman’s corpse. “Take the painting. Get your dad back. Finish this.”
“You’re going to be fine. Just hang in there until I can get some help.” It was the first time Adriana had felt sorry for her.
Allyson clutched the wound desperately. “I’m not going to make it.” She grinned devilishly. “And besides, I was going to figure out a way to take the painting from you anyway. I’m a thief. Backstabbing is in my nature.” She gagged and then coughed again. “Take it. Get your dad back. Just promise me you’ll kill the ones who started this.”
Adriana searched her eyes. There was no hope in them. Only the grim specter of death looming. Adriana nodded. “I will.”
“Good.” She swallowed. “Now get out of here. Someone may have heard that firefight. No sense in you getting arrested when you’re… you’re… so… close.”
Allyson’s head rolled to the side, and her eyes closed slowly, shutting them off from the dim light. Her chest stopped heaving. Adriana stared at the motionless body, shocked and overwhelmed.
Adriana blinked back a tear. She didn’t care about this person. But for some reason, her emotions were getting the best of her. Perhaps it was because Adriana knew Allyson never had a real chance to be a good person in life. Or perhaps it could have been fear for her father and her own life. She wasn’t sure. But she knew she couldn’t sit around and figure it out. She had to move. For some reason, Adriana reached into Allyson’s pocket and pulled out her phone. She pressed the woman’s cold thumb to the home button, unlocking the device, then tapped in the emergency response number that would bring police and an ambulance rushing to the scene.