Pistol Whipped - Ashley Bostock Page 0,55

again? She slid back against the outside wall, opened her purse, grabbed her phone and dialed 9-1-1 and, leaving the phone on, she pressed the volume down—just in case—and shoved it back into her purse. Then as quietly as she could, she unzipped the secret compartment inside her purse and grabbed her gun.

What was she going to do? She couldn’t kill the guy. She kept the safety on because she had a bullet in the chamber. Despite what some people’s opinions were about carrying a weapon around with a bullet in the chamber, she did. She didn’t have children in her life and because it was her safety, she kept it in there at the ready. She couldn’t possibly use the gun on this man though. But she had to help Logan! With her nerves bundled in tight knots, she quickly glanced around the doorjamb into her store.

What she saw frightened her. White powder covered the floor. The man was standing, his back to her and she could barley make out Logan in the dark, lying on the ground. The man was holding a knife. Oh gosh. It could be worse, it could be a gun. Was Logan hurt badly? The next thing she knew, she was creeping up behind the man and was bringing her gun down on top of the man’s head. The sickening crack of his skull forced her to hold back the bile rising in her throat. The man slumped to the ground. His knife clattered to the floor. Turning the light switch on, she rushed to Logan, who was already getting into a standing position. “Are you okay? Logan, he could have killed you! Oh my gosh, Logan, is he dead?”

She was trembling uncontrollably, and Logan’s hands steadied her grip and pulled the gun out of her hands. Checking the safety, he set it on the counter next to her sink and turned back toward her.

Logan checked the man’s pulse. “No, he’s alive. You pistol-whipped him pretty good, huh? He was trying to rob you, Gabriella.”

Her breaths were coming out short. “I think I’m having a heart attack, Logan. What happened to you?”

“He blasted me with your fire extinguisher. And kicked me a few times but I can handle it.”

“I am so sorry you got involved in this. The police are on their way. At least, I hope.” She remembered her phone and pulled it from her purse. The line was dead. She dialed 9-1-1 again and was connected to a dispatcher. Relaying the situation, the dispatcher confirmed police were on their way. She watched Logan hover over the intruder. With minimal effort, he pushed the man onto his back and took off his ski mask.

Gabriella was taken aback. The locksmith?

“He had a key, who is he?”

“He’s the locksmith I hired to rekey everything when I lost all of my keys. The same company also rekeyed them after the break-in.” It made perfect sense to her. Sirens screamed outside and Gabriella found comfort at see the police cars pull into her lot.

“Police! Is anyone armed?” The police and fire department strolled in together. The first officer was older, balding and had a faded scar across his cheek. The second officer wasn’t much younger by the looks of it. He must’ve lost weight recently because his pants were hanging from his hips and there was an overload of cloth cinched inside his waistband from his belt buckle.

“No,” she squealed. “I have a concealed weapon permit. My gun is on the counter.”

She pointed to the counter where one of the officers followed her direction and stood between them and her gun. The firemen went to the man on the floor and began checking his vitals.

“He’s alive,” she said. “I just hit him over the head with my gun. That’s why he’s bleeding so badly. But I don’t think I hit him that hard. He should be okay. Right?” She looked to Logan for confirmation.

Logan shrugged and nodded.

The firefighters checked the man’s head wound and although it appeared to be only superficial, they had a few words with the officers and waited for him to regain consciousness.

“Let’s cuff him before he wakes up. I don’t want to take any chances. Especially since he was armed.” The balding officer motioned for his partner to stay against the counter while he knelt down and began frisking the still unconscious locksmith. The officer handcuffed one wrist and then the other. Task completed he stood and turned to Gabriella. “Do you know