Excerpt from One Kick by Chelsea Cain, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"You're safe now," he said again.

She was breathing hard. It made it difficult to keep the gun steady. But the gun gave her courage. She pulled words from her throat. "I want my parents," she said.

"We're going to take you to them," Frank said.

She shook her head back and forth. He didn't understand. "I want my mother and father."

Frank's gun was still holstered. He made a small gesture with his head in the direction of Mr. Johnson. "Step outside, sir," he said.

Mr. Johnson didn't move. She could feel his fear filling up the room, taking up all the oxygen. "Go," she told him. He wasn't supposed to be in the house anyway. Mr. Johnson nodded and then pulled on his boots and went out the front door without his raincoat.

Even for the .22, her hands were small, and she had to use a special grip, and two fingers around the trigger.

"What's your name, honey?" Frank asked her.

"Beth Riley," she said. She could hear footsteps overhead as the agents stomped around her parents' bedroom upstairs.

"What's your real name?" he asked.

Her skin prickled. "Beth Riley," she said again.

A sudden sound made her jump, a crack like the screen door slamming, only louder. A sudden bolt of terror stiffened her spine. She knew that sound from target shooting with her father. It was a gunshot.

It sounded like it had come from behind the house.

"Mother," she said.

Frank lifted the walkie-talkie to his mouth, and she didn't protest, didn't tell him not to move.

"I need a report on that gunshot now," he said into the walkie-talkie.

"The mother just blew her brains out," a voice responded through static.

The storm rattled the windows and the whole house shuddered.

She felt something begin to uncoil inside her and flood her insides with feelings. But the emotions were mixed-up, out of order. She tried to push them all away, but they screamed and twisted to get out.

Frank was looking at her. She wanted him to stop looking at her.

She thought the windows might break. The wind was so loud, she could hear it whistling through the walls. Thunder boomed above them. But this wasn't like other thunder. It was rhythmic. It was getting louder and closer. The hall light fixture trembled.

"Those are helicopters," Frank said above the noise. "The guys from the main office like to make an entrance. Can I have the gun now?"

She was splitting in two. She wanted to give the man named Frank the gun. She wanted to let go.

Then the living room door opened and her father appeared. All her muddy emotions evaporated at the sight of him. He had come to rescue her. He would be so proud of her, remembering where to find the gun. She would shoot Frank for him. She would do exactly what he wanted. She had always done exactly what he wanted. All she needed was a nod and she would pull the trigger and kill Frank and her father would take her away from this.

Frank had his hands in the air. She glanced at her father, waiting for his signal to kill, but her father's eyes were downcast. Then she saw the FBI agent over her father's shoulder. The agent went an angry pink when he saw her gun pointed at his friend. He elbowed her father hard in the back and he fell to the ground.

Terror snaked in her belly. "Daddy?" she said. But he didn't answer.

The agent leveled his gun at her, the black barrel pointing at her. He was yelling, calling out to the others, the men upstairs. Her father was on his stomach, his cheek on the floor, his face turned away from her.

"Lower your weapon, Agent," the agent named Frank growled.

Her eyes darted to her father, but the .22 didn't waver. The helicopters were so loud now, she couldn't think. They sounded like they were landing all around the house.

She could hear the other men coming down the stairs. Everyone was inching closer to her.

Excerpted from One Kick by Chelsea Cain. Copyright © 2014 by Chelsea Cain. Excerpted by permission of Simon & Schuster. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.