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would be like to really let go. What it would hurt. The answer lay in a memory that never faded, but after all this time, maybe it was okay to start letting it. She dropped into a deeper sleep, and it was dark when she jerked awake in response to a dull, squishing thunk . When her eyes flew open, they focused instantly on the handle of the giant knife protruding from Alan’s chest.

Chapter Three
    Her nightmares had never been like this. She’d always been alone, trying to protect Kelsey against the foes she’d defeated before—two men, unarmed but for their strength and evil plan. This was totally different.
    Inside she screamed in horror as Alan gasped, his eyes already vacant, his hands trying to clutch the knife. There was nothing she could do for him. There was almost nothing she could do for herself, as a second knife descended toward her.
    A few things saved her. Her position—she was lying on her side, presenting a much less obliging target for a kill strike. Her nightmares, which had conditioned her to consider what she would do under any circumstance she could think of. And her knowledge that if anything happened to her, Kelsey was a sitting duck.
    The knife grazed the side of her left arm as she rolled to her right and kept going, her momentum taking the attacker by surprise. She had a vague thought that he hadn’t been aiming to kill, but she had no time to consider that. They tumbled to the floor together. Regan was on top but she had no weapon, no leverage, and no clothes. There was less for him to grab, but absolutely nothing to protect her.
    He swung his knife hand twice, cutting her both times but not doing any serious damage. Someone shouted, an angry “No!”, but she didn’t know who he was shouting at. She managed to get a foot on her attacker’s wrist and push it downward, then pulled herself up to put her weight on that foot and one knee on his chest. A heavy brass elephant sat on the nightstand next to her. Not a very lovely decoration, but it made a good weapon. She held it by the trunk and swung it into the man’s head, knocking him out.
    She had no time for relief. Already the others were on her. Four of them. They must have learned their lesson last time. Even with everything she’d done in preparation, the odds weren’t in her favor.
    She grabbed the knife off the floor and swung it in an arc as someone caught her from behind. She used him as a brace, lifting her feet and kicking out. Her bare feet wouldn’t do much damage, but she did manage to clip one guy on the jaw, giving her a little space.
    He cursed and glared. “Dammit, it wasn’t supposed to go like this. He said she’d be alone.”
    The guy behind her grunted as she wriggled. Despair welled in her chest, pain for Alan for being here when he normally wouldn’t be. Her fault.
    So don’t let it be a waste.
    She fought harder. Her guy had her by the arms instead of the neck, which gave her more flexibility. She twisted the knife, biting back a cry when it sliced across the top of her hip, and aimed it backwards. When one of the others swung a fist at her face, she pushed off the floor, then planted a foot on his chest, shoving hard and falling backward onto the man holding her. They landed on the bed, Regan on top. His yell escalated to a scream when he realized what the pain in his abdomen meant.
    Regan bounded back to her feet, but now without a weapon and still facing three large men. They were all on her side of the bed, blocking access to the window. But the doorway was clear. They’d hesitated when she gutted their colleague, and seemed to think she was trapped.
    She wasn’t.
    She turned and jumped onto the bed, leaped over Alan’s limp body and ran out the door. They pounded behind her, booted feet thundering down the hall.
    “Stop her!” bellowed one man. She thought of her goal, the gun in the kitchen, and wondered why no one was shooting at her. Why they’d brought knives and five men, instead of a pistol