Rosa couldn’t believe that she had barely had time to locate a place to hide in a small airport hanger’s tower, and one of the players had already found her. To be more precise, he had stumbled onto the location. Judging by the blood on his forehead, he was probably dazed out of his head.

The big man staggered onto the lower floor, hit the stair railing, and then proceeded to plod upwards.

Rosa hefted the shotgun and raised it to her shoulder. The Benelli was heavy, but it was also comforting to hold in her hands. She had fired a shotgun once before while trying skeet shooting. She had been impressed by the roaring sound of the gun before it kicked her in the shoulder like a mule. A few days later and she had still worn a bruise as a reward for her effort.

“Freeze!” she yelled, like an idiot.

“Wait,” he said as he lifted his hand.

The man had been in the process of taking one of the stairs. His eyes went wide, and he fell back in shock. Rosa pressed the stock of the Benelli tighter against her shoulder. The guy’s head wound had streamed blood down his face, and he looked shocked. Shell-shocked, more like. If she was in a bar, this guy, with his buff upper chest, close-cut beard, and dark eyes, would have enthralled her. Now all she could think about was how he wanted her dead.

He hit the ground as she fired. The Benelli roared like a cannon in the confined space. If his upper body hadn’t been in the process of falling down the stairs, his head would have evaporated.

Rosa fired again even as the barrels rose from the first blast. The second shot took a chunk of the wall out and sent debris flying.

“Please!” the man begged.

He pushed himself around the corner and out of sight, but not before Rosa fired again.

“Stop. We can talk about this. I’m already injured from hitting a tree when I parachuted in,” the guy pleaded.

“Don’t care,” Rosa said with as much conviction as she could muster.

She took the stairs two at a time and rounded the corner so she could finish the guy off, but he was gone. A trail of bloody handprints led to the front door. The door banged shut and that made Rosa let out a little yelp.

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When she poked the barrel out of the doorway and her head around the door, she found the guy had managed to disappear. But where? There was a house ten feet away, but someone had boarded up the side door. Judging by the amount of moss and black mold around the edges, it seemed like the window to the right hadn't been opened in years.

“Where in the hell did he go?” Rosa wondered out loud.

She spun as glass tinkled behind her.

The man’s fist came out of nowhere and caught her against the side of her neck. It could have been a lot worse, but some sixth sense had kicked in. The man had at least fifty pounds on her, but he was lean, with thick shoulders, and crewcut black hair. He had a dark goatee and equally dark eyes, currently narrowed as he came at her.

Rosa fell back and lost her footing. She hit the doorjamb, and then she was on the ground. The painful impact knocked her silly for a split second; the shotgun discharged again and was blown out of her hand. It clattered across the ground, just out of reach.

He stepped around the corner with part of a broken chair in one hand. The end, an ominously heavy joint of wood, was going to end Rosa’s life if she didn’t do anything.

“Can’t believe you fell for that, stupid bitch,” the man said.

Rosa rolled over as the stick descended and hit the ground where her head had been. He pushed her back down with his boot, but Rosa got her arm under her back.

He lifted the stick again, but Rosa wasn’t going down without a fight. She used her right leg and fired it at his knee like a cannon. He tried to dance back, but she got him just below his kneecap. The man screamed in pain and shook his leg as he danced backward.

Rosa went for the Glock in her waistband.

The man blazed with anger as he swung. It caught her upper arm and almost dislodged the Glock as she lifted the gun. She rolled away from the man, and right into the shotgun, but he was first and trapped it with his foot so she couldn’t lift it.

She shifted the Glock to her other hand, because the one he had struck was practically numb. As he reared back to hit her again, she fired.

The first shot caught him in the side and spun him. The second blast got him in the upper back. He staggered forward and dropped to his knees as his hand reached behind his back and pawed at the bullet wound. The man rotated his body and reached for the shotgun. Christ, he was never going to give up.

She shot him three more times, right in the middle of his back. His hand hit the ground, and he turned. Blood bubbled between his lips as he murmured, “I almost got you.”

Then he fell on his face and didn’t move again.

Rosa shook as she pushed herself to her feet. She took in the corpse and thought she was going to puke. Then she realized that the camera had captured her first kill. She wanted to turn away, cover the lens, but she didn’t want to feel the shock again. Never again.

She got her last shock when she spun at a sound. A figure materialized and then faded across the street next to a rusty old husk of a car. Rosa went for the shotgun but it was too late.