Miranda felt sick. Sick and shaky and utterly terrified. She'd seen guns before and she'd even held a gun, but she had never in her life had one pointed at her head. She had never had someone tell her that if she didn't do everything they said, they would kill her.
All Miranda knew was that she didn't want to die. Sitting on the floor, Miranda was hidden under the mess of her hair, wishing that it would hide her from the men with guns just like it was half-blocking the view of the room from her.
She swallowed, listening to the two men talk. A policeman. One of them was police and he'd help them.
"Miranda," she whispered, not lifting her head. "Miranda... Lowsley. I- I'm a shopgirl." Her voice cracked a little and she screwed up her face in an attempt not to cry. "I'm just a shopgirl and I shouldn't be here."