"Logan…"
"If I can't have you," he says, raising the gun again, "then he can't either."
The phone crackles, and Dime's voice comes through, sharp with panic. "Allison, get down!"
But before I can move, Logan does something I don't expect. Instead of pointing the gun at me, he spins toward the door just as it bursts open.
"Police! Drop your weapon, now."
Logan doesn't drop it. Instead, he swings the gun toward the officers, and I see his finger start to tighten on the trigger.
That's when everything happens at once.
I scream Logan's name and lunge forward, trying to knock his arm away.
The gun goes off with a sound like the world ending.
Someone else screams – a voice I don't recognize.
Heavy boots pound across the floor.
More shouting. More chaos.
And through it all, Dime's voice on the phone, calling my name over and over again.
Then everything goes dark.
When I come to, I'm on the floor behind my desk. My ears are ringing, and there's a sharp pain in my left shoulder. I can taste blood in my mouth.
"Allison!" Dime's voice, but not from the phone. He's here. In the room with me.
I try to sit up, but firm hands press me back down. "Easy, baby. Just stay still."
"Logan?" My voice comes out as a croak.
"He's alive. They got him. He's alive, but he's hurt."
I try to piece together what happened, but my head feels like it's full of cotton. "The gun…"
"Went off when you tried to stop him from shooting at the cops. You probably saved his life, you know. And maybe theirs too."
"I'm okay," I whisper.
"No, you're not." His voice is rough with emotion. "You're bleeding. There's glass in your shoulder from where you hit the window. And you scared the living hell out of me."
I finally manage to focus on his face. He looks terrible – pale and wild-eyed, with his hair sticking up like he's been running his hands through it.
"How did you get here so fast?"
"I was already on my way when you called. Had a feeling something was wrong when you said you missed me. You never say stuff like that over the phone unless something's bothering you."
That's when I notice the other people in the room. Paramedics. Police officers. Principal Harrison, holding her husband's hand. She looks over at me. "Are you okay?"
I nod.
"Ma'am, we need to get you to the hospital," one of the paramedics says. "You've got some glass we need to remove, and we want to check for a concussion."
I start to protest, but Dime cuts me off. "We're going to the hospital. No arguments."
