The engines came first.
A low rumble outside that rolled across the concrete like distant thunder.
Malcolm's head snapped toward the sound.
Then tires screeched across gravel.
One vehicle.
Two.
Three.
They came in fast.
Headlights cut across the broken windows and flooded the room in white light before the engines roared down and doors slammed open outside.
Marybeth froze.
"Shit," she whispered.
Voices followed.
Men.
Boots hit the pavement hard and fast.
"Clear the lot."
"Check inside."
Marybeth moved first. She ran for the door and pushed it open just as the first beam of a flashlight swung across the parking lot.
"Don't shoot!" she called.
The light snapped straight to her face.
"Hold!" someone shouted.
Malcolm barely had time to react before the door burst open again and three men pushed inside with rifles raised.
"Hands!"
Malcolm lifted his slowly.
The pistol still hung in his hand.
