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Sam recognized Mitch’s voice. In a burst of courage, she raised her arm, weapon held by the handle, and stabbed the fork tines into the back of Carl’s hand. Knowing he would retaliate, she threw herself to her left, twisting the arm that remained tied to the chair behind her before the chair followed her to the floor. At Carl’s howl of pain and surprise, a shot was fired through the kitchen window.
She cursed at the unexpected sound of breaking glass, then again at the burning in her shoulder as she landed on the floor, half under the table, and wrestled with the chair, trying to get it into a position so she could untie her hand. The dress tangled her legs, complicating the seemingly simple task. She loosened the knot enough that, with her pulling and twisting, she freed her other ar
