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The first bullet made a nickel-size hole in the Kokopelli Cafe’s exterior wall a few feet in front of Shea. A fraction of a second later, the second bullet ripped through the paper bag she held containing two coffees exploded. Time slowed to a crawl as she turned to face the shooter, catching a fleeting glimpse of a dark green convertible with top up. Labrys!
Shea was drawing her Glock from her waistband when the third bullet slammed into her chest. Searing pain radiated throughout her body, driving her to the ground. Her jaw tensed.
She willed herself up again, ignoring the screams of onlookers. Her free hand went to her chest as she winced. No blood. Kevlar. I’m okay.
Down the street, the convertible ducked behind a semi and disappeared over the next rise heading north toward Iron
