As the intruder went down flat on his back and his weapon scattered away, Vin squared his muzzle off and pumped another round and another round and another round into the guy so there was no chance the fucker was going to be able to blink, much less lift a gun.

With each shot, the man jerked, arms and legs flopping like a puppet.

“Marie-Terese, are you hit?” Vin called out as the din faded.

“No…but oh, God…Jim’s barely breathing and Eddie fell out of the window.”

Blood dripped off Vin’s free hand and onto the intruder’s jeans as he stepped over the guy and kicked that gun all the way down the stairs. He still wasn’t about to trust that the bastard was dead, though, so he trained his weapon on the paling face before him as he listened hard for more footsteps downstairs.

“Get your phone,” Vin said to Marie-Terese. “Call nine-one-one.”

“Already dialing,” she replied.

He wanted to look over his shoulder and check her with his own eyes, but he wasn’t taking any chances. There was no telling who else had come into the house, and there was still a shallow movement in the intruder’s chest.

As seconds drifted into minutes, Vin totally approved of the way the color was leaving the unremarkable features of the man’s face, but Christ…who was he? What was he?

Although if a bullet could stop him, he probably was just a human.

Marie-Terese’s voice drifted across the room. “Yes, there’s been a shooting at One-sixteen Crestwood Avenue. There are two men—three down…. We need an ambulance right away. Marie-Terese Boudreau. Yes…yes. Yes…no, it’s not my residence—”

The lids of the intruder suddenly flipped open and Vin found himself staring into a pair of pale browns that were fixated on something other than whatever was in front of him. With a stiff twitch, those graying lips started to move.

“Noooooo…” The word was extended for the length of a horrified exhale, as if whatever he was seeing made nightmares seem like sitcoms.

With a gasp and a shudder, the guy passed into the hereafter, an expression of terror freezing on his face as a line of blood oozed out of the corner of his mouth.

Vin kicked those loose legs a couple of times and then he listened hard. He could hear wind whistling up the stairs, but there were no other sounds anywhere else.

He backed up slowly, gun swinging from left to right in case somebody came up from down below or popped out of any of the doorways.

Inside the bedroom, he held his arm wide and Marie-Terese came forward for a hard hug. She was shaking, but she held on strong for the split second they were together.

“Can you do CPR on Jim?” he asked. “Or do you want to hold this gun on—”