An Arrogant Black Belt Threatens a Rookie Nurse in a Rural ER — Unaware She Was a Navy SEAL Officer
Chapter 11
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The lead man's smile came back. "We're here for you, ma'am."Reese took one slow step back from the Bay 1 cart, her hand staying on the drawer.The lead contractor walked into the middle of the corridor, his three friends fanning out behind him in the textbook spacing of a four-man entry team: left wing six feet behind the lead, right wing six feet behind, tail man at the door watching the parking lot. They had done this before; they had been paid to do this before."Ma'am," the lead man said pleasantly, "we're going to need you to come with us.""I'm not going anywhere."It wasn't a question. Reese's eyes flicked just once to the wall clock above the charge desk: Marsh was two minutes out. Two minutes was an eternity in a corridor with four armed men in it; two minutes was also the rest of her life if she stood still.The lead man took another step toward her, his right hand coming out of his jacket pocket. The grip of a SIG P320 cleared the fabric. He did not raise the muzzle; he was confident. He was confident because he had counted the staff in the ER and decided that none of them were a threat. He had counted wrong."Pam," Reese said quietly, "go to triage. Take Marisol with you. Lock the door."Pam moved: 62 years old, and she moved like a woman 30 years younger. Marisol was already half out of her chair."Vera, get behind the charge desk and stay down."Vera dropped.The lead man's smile flickered. "Ma'am, the more people you involve, the harder this gets for everyone.""You're right," Reese said.And she pulled the drawer all the way open.The lead man's eyes went to the drawer, because that's where a normal person's eyes would go. That was the mistake.Reese did not reach into the drawer; the drawer was a feint. Her right hand came up off the cart with the Bay 1 defibrillator paddle that had been resting at her hip the entire time, and she drove it forward and pressed the discharge button against the lead man's neck, just below the angle of his jaw.360 joules, direct contact. The defibrillator was not on, technically, but a code-blue paddle held against bare skin while charged delivers a current that does interesting things to a vagus nerve.The lead man's knees folded; the SIG went sideways into the wall. Reese caught the pistol on the way down, rotated it into a two-handed grip, and put the front sight on the left wing's chest in the same continuous motion."Hands!"Left wing froze. Right wing reached for his coat."Hands!"Right wing did not stop reaching. Reese shot him once in the upper chest, center mass, two inches below the suprasternal notch: subsonic round, suppressor on the SIG—the sound was a soft, dry cough. Right wing folded sideways into the wall and went down; the pistol he had been reaching for hit the linoleum and skidded.