Elle’s hearing deafened. She grabbed the stock of the gun and drove her shoulder against the man’s chest. He fought to keep it, circling toward the wall. Elle shoved him against the splintered logs, head-butted him, and pried free the weapon.She stumbled back, found her balance, and pointed the gun at him. Trembling, he raised his hands. Elle kept her finger pointed straight along the trigger housing, just like Dad taught her. She had no desire to kill anybody. But he didn’t have to know that.“Hands on your head and turn around. Get on your knees.”The man shuffled around and lowered himself with effort to the floor. An empty handcuff dangled from Elle’s wrist, swinging like a pendulum.Her heartbeat drummed. “Where’s the key?”The old man mumbled.She fought to keep her voice level. “Speak up. Where’s the key?”“I said . . .” He stopped to catch his breath. “In the pantry. Top shelf.”She sidestepped to the kitchen, catching a glimpse of the swelling and contused cheek where she’d struck him.
