She was headed to the sink with the glasses, figuring she’d load them in the dishwasher for tomorrow, when the door swung open. Damn, she’d forgotten to lock it. Maybe one of the women had forgotten something, or Dalton was here.

Raven exited the kitchen and froze.

A strange man stood before her. Even though it was a hot night, he had a gray hoodie pulled over his head, with baggy jeans and dirty sneakers. A scruffy beard hid the lower half of his face. He was short—only about five foot six maximum, and his brown eyes were small and overbright, as if he was on something. He swayed back and forth, glancing wildly around the bar.

He held a gun in his right hand.

In that instant, her mind stopped. She stared at him with a touch of confusion, then began realizing she was in big trouble and had better get her shit together. Her palms sweat, and her heart pounded so hard, there was a roaring in her ears. For an instant, her vision blurred with panic and choking terror. She had no alarm system—the cost had been astronomical and she’d figured she’d revisit it later. Her gun was in a locked drawer in the kitchen, and right now it was completely useless. No time to run back there and get it; it would take too long to fumble with the key. Why hadn’t she locked the door? She always locked the door—it was a habit completely ingrained. What was she going to do?

Be calm. Wait for your opportunity.

Years of boxing and karate and self-defense training suddenly burst inside her brain in trickling snippets of advice. She swallowed back the crippling fear and remained still.

“You alone?” His voice was slightly cracked, as if he was on the edge.

“No, there’s people in the kitchen who are calling the police. I think you should leave.”

The gun rose, wobbled. “Fucking liar. No one’s in there, I watched everyone leave. There’s only one car left. I need money, bitch. Get it.”

She glanced at the cash register behind the bar, trying to plot, trying to be calm. Her phone lay right in front of her, close to the register. But the gun was a game changer.

Act weak.

“P-please don’t hurt me,” she whimpered. “I’ll get you the money. Anything you want.”

The gun lowered. “That’s right, I need the money now.” Sweat and body odor stank from his skin. “Get it!” he yelled.

She jumped and headed behind the bar, arms raised in surrender. He walked further into the room, still looking around, his hands shaking. There wasn’t much in the register—she kept the rest locked up in the back in a safe, and made regular deposits. Cash in a bar was necessary but dangerous. What the hell was she going to do?

“Hurry!”

She grabbed all the cash from the register and deliberately knocked over a glass. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she blabbered. “You can have it all, here, let me get it for you.” She bent down as if to clear the glass, palmed her phone, and stuck it in the back of her shorts. There was no time to swipe it open and call 911 yet.

“Stop playing games with me!” he roared. “Get out from there!”

The tears that leaked from her eyes were genuine now, and didn’t have to be forced. Gaze trained on the gun, she lowered her head in sheer meekness, hands outstretched with the cash grasped in her fingers, and slowly walked out from behind the bar.

“I know you have a safe, and I want that, too. Hurry up, bitch! Give me that money now. You hear me?”

If she went into the kitchen to the safe with him, she might not come out. In the open main area, she had more options, but the doors were already locked up in the back. Could she get past him and run out the front?

Distract.

“Yes, anything, please just don’t hurt me. Here, here’s the money.”

The gun was now trained on her, and she eased forward, her hands shaking. He went to grab the cash, and she dropped a few of the bills onto the floor. He cursed viciously. “Pick it up!” he screamed.

She bent her knees, scooped up the bills, and stuck her shaking hand out again, offering the money.

The gun lowered, pointing to the ground.

He reached for the cash.

Act.

The rest seemed to happen in slow motion, though Raven was sure it was only a few lightning seconds. Shifting her weight, she launched into a side kick, aiming directly for his face. The small square heel of her sandal caught him dead center, and the sound of his high scream shattered in the air.

He staggered back, the gun still in his hand, and without pause, she gathered all her strength and aimed her next kick right at his groin. He screamed again.

The gun hit the floor.

Her whole body quivering in fear, Raven dove for the gun, pointing it at him while she scrambled for her phone. It took her three tries to open it up and dial 911.

“I’ll kill you, bitch! I’ll kill you!”

“Stay back! I have the gun!” she yelled.

“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”

“Help me!” she babbled into the phone, trying to catch her breath. “There’s a guy with a gun trying to rob me. My Place restaurant, Thirty-Three Hatsfield Place.”

“Dispatching police. Are you hurt, ma’am? Is the gunman still there?”

“I’m okay, I have his gun and I’m pointing it at him right now. Please hurry!”

“I have a five-minute window for the Harrington Police Department. Stay on the phone with me.”

She stayed on the phone with dispatch, watching the guy crawl on the floor while blood pooled from his nose. She kept the gun pointed in front of her, ready to shoot near his leg if he got too close. A strange calm began to settle over her as soothing words poured into her ear from her phone, and her fingers wrapped around the solid, cold metal of the gun. She was a decent shot, and if he got up, she could hold him off.

He wasn’t going to hurt her.

When the police came, she released the gun. The guy was arrested. Someone wrapped her in a blanket and took her statement. She watched the whirling red and white lights flash round and round through the window and answered everything with a slow, deliberate precision. Raven was proud of the controlled way she was able to handle the aftermath, and when officers lectured her on trying to tangle with a gunman and told her that she was very lucky, she just nodded and agreed with them. Someone gave her a glass of water. The police seemed like they were wrapping up and about to leave.

And then she heard her name being called out from across the room. Funny, it sounded familiar. Panicked, though, and not the charming, mischievous drawl she was used to. Blinking, she watched as Dalton appeared before her, saying her name, stroking back her hair, frantically patting down her body like he needed to confirm she wasn’t sporting a bullet hole.