When that happened, she needed him to come on her terms, to be focused away from her, even if only for a second.

Then she had an idea. She hadn’t found a gun in Yarborough’s desk, but she had seen something combustible and a way to make it go boom.

Moving quickly now, not even caring how much noise she made, Gabi snatched up her manager’s trash can. Then she returned to the desk. From the bottom right drawer, she retrieved the box of cigars and the can of air freshener. Opening the lid to the carved wooden box, she retrieved a butane torch lighter she found inside.

Now all she needed was some kindling to get the fire going. With a small smile and a swivel of the desk chair, she quickly pulled open Yarborough’s file drawer, pulled a few random folders, and emptied the paper contents into the trash can.

The shouts from the neighboring room had grown more urgent. Muffled by the door, she heard the gunman’s threats, then a woman’s scream, then someone else begging for the young black man to stop whatever he was doing. Her focus remained on her preparations. Time was not on her side, and the seconds were too precious to waste on indecision.

She positioned the trash can beside the desk, facing the door. Then she added the purple can of air freshener to the mix and used the torch lighter to set the papers ablaze. It took a couple of tries to get the fire going, but once it took off, the can full of old dry paper burned bright and hot.

Gabi moved to a spot behind the door and waited as smoke filled the room. She had no idea how long the pressurized contents of the can would withstand the heat but she had watched a kid on YouTube try something similar, and his little experiment had only lasted a matter of seconds and resulted in first-degree burns.

She waited, scissors in hand, pointed toward the floor.

The smoke had turned purple and was crawling under the door.

Someone in the next room yelled, “What the hell?”

Boots pounded the tile, coming toward her. This was her moment. Time for action. Time to stand and fight. To put her father’s training to good use. To roll up all of her anger into one ball and hurl it with reckless abandon at the person about to step through the door.

She saw the door’s handle move. She flattened herself to the wall and refused to breathe for fear of coughing and giving away her position.

The door swung inward.

Her enemy coughed from the smoke and cursed.

Not yet, she told herself. Patience.

He stepped toward the fire, and the aerosol can exploded with a deafening pop.

The metal trash can absorbed most of the blast, but the explosion was enough to start Yarborough’s desk to burning and create a brilliantly bright ball of flame.

Now was her moment, the opportunity she had been patiently awaiting since this ordeal had begun.