by Geri Krotow
The door chimed, announcing the arrival of another customer, and she reluctantly turned away to head back to the register. At least she’d have the memory of this moment to keep her warm at night.
She rounded the corner, stopping short as a young man came barreling down the center aisle. He was tall and lean, his hands stuck deep into the front pockets of the jacket he wore with the hood pulled up. She frowned slightly, the hair on the back of her neck prickling. It was chilly in Houston, but this man looked wrong somehow, as if he wore the jacket to conceal himself rather than to stay warm.
Before she could make sense of his odd dress, he caught sight of her standing there. In one fluid motion, he drew his hand from his pocket, pulling out a gun and pointing it at her chest. “Money. Now.”
Fiona stared at the gun, unable to take her eyes from the black, snub-nosed piece. It’s so small, she thought stupidly. How can something so small be so dangerous?
“You deaf?” he asked, grabbing her arm and jerking her forward. “I said I want money.” He shoved her toward the register, and she hit the counter hard enough to make her wince, the pain from the blow piercing through the fog of shock. “Give it to me.”
Back when she had started this job, Ben, the owner, had given her some training on what to do if the store was ever held up. She was supposed to cooperate, offer no resistance, and do everything she could to get the robber out of the store without hurting anyone. If possible, she was to hit the silent-alarm button, which would alert the police that a robbery was in progress. Fiona had listened dutifully, filled with naive confidence that such a thing would never happen to her. But now that she was faced with the reality, her hands shook so badly she could barely open the register, much less find and press the alarm button.
“Faster,” he said, leaning over the counter to monitor her progress as she emptied out the register with numb fingers. He swayed back and forth on his feet, his bloodshot eyes frequently cutting over to the door. Fiona didn’t know whether to hope for an interruption, or pray no one else came in and spooked him enough to shoot her.
His breath wafted over her, the stench of stale beer so strong she almost gagged. She stuffed the rest of the bills into a plastic bag and thrust it across the counter, trying hard not to look at his face. If he thought she couldn’t identify him, maybe he wouldn’t hurt her...
When he didn’t take the bag right away, she glanced up to find him looking at the door again. Was there someone outside? She couldn’t see the sidewalk from this angle, but he was staring so fixedly that something must have caught his attention.
She kept her eyes on him, trying to control her breathing as she fumbled with one hand under the counter. Where was that damn button? Her fingers skimmed across the flat surface, searching vainly for the alarm. When she finally found it, she bit her lip to keep from crying out in relief. She pressed it with a quick stab of her finger, then brought her hand back up so he wouldn’t see what she’d done.
The man swiveled his head back around and eyed the bag greedily. His fingertips brushed across her skin as he grabbed it, making her shudder. She wiped her hand on her shirt to erase his touch as he placed the bag on the counter and opened it, keeping the gun trained on her while he checked the contents. After a few seconds, he raised angry eyes to her face, thrusting the gun forward with a jerk of his arm. “Where’s the rest?”
She shook her head. “There is no more,” she stammered, taking a step back when he leaned over the counter, peering into the empty register. A movement behind him caught her eye, and when she looked up her heart skipped a beat.
Hot Guy was slowly creeping toward the counter, a gun in his hand and his finger on his lips.
Copyright © 2015 by Lara Kingeter
ISBN-13: 9781460388037
Her Christmas Protector
Copyright © 2015 by Geri Krotow
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