Snippet #2387084

Two suitcases and a large cardboard box. If one discounted the box, it was exactly the same amount of luggage that she'd first arrived in Miami with. Rose didn't quite know how to think about that. Her business had been running for a year, and it wasn't a bad year at all. No, her clothes were coming into vogue, and she had such a wide variety of customers looking for custom made prom dresses and off the rack party frocks... That fire had snatched it all away from her. 

The police were good to her, even if they hadn't caught the culprits. Undoubtedly they were a little... thrown by a woman who dressed like she still lived in the age before colour television and who spoke with a funny British accent, claiming that her clothes shop, stocking similar clothing to what she wore, had burnt to a cinder and she had no idea who, what or why it had happened. But good manners, three dozen freshly baked muffins and a nicely fitted skirt helped to make a good impression. Still, Rosie mused, stealing a glance at the box in her brother's arms, it could have been a hell of a lot worse. She was alive, nobody was seriously hurt and she'd been running low on supplies. Her order had arrived three days ago, at her brother's hotel room. 

"...And your sister wants you to Skype her in the morning. I don't know if she meant morning here, in London or in... Where ever the hell she is... Africa somewhere..."

"Johannesburg?"

"Er, yes, I think that's it." Eddie Ellison frowned thoughtfully, backing through the doors of the hotel lobby. The resemblance between brother and sister was obvious; dark hair, similar features, and silvery grey eyes, now hidden behind sunglasses. 
That was where similarities ended. Eddie was dressed in black trousers and jacket, his white shirt untucked and the top two buttons undone and a bad case of bedhead. His little sister on the other hand, was prim and proper as always, the front of her hair pinned up into two neat victory rolls, the rest waved and loose around her shoulders and her make-up simple and perfectly applied. She'd spent the better part of fifteen years perfecting her look; she expected nothing less of herself.

Rosie checked in at the desk, but her brother being her brother, insisted on carrying up the box of fabrics to the room with her, fussing over the room and generally worrying about nothing. It took her a full twenty minutes to talk him around and coax him back down into the lobby. They said their goodbyes with an embrace and a final warning that if he didn't leave soon, he would miss his flight, and possibly his future sister in law's wedding. 

Rose watched him leave with a bemused smile, and ignoring several strange glances from other guests, decided to grab something a little more substantial than a cup of coffee and a mini muffin for breakfast.  
She was completely oblivious to the brewing commotion in the lobby until she saw the flashing lights and heard a scream. She turned around to see what the fuss was about, and suddenly the Brit found herself frozen to the spot. 

Her brain, the entire logical, rational side of her was screaming at her to run, but her feet simply refused to comply. Instead her hands rose slowly to her mouth in horror. A real freaking gun. 
"Ohmygod." It was a whisper, an unintentional statement that barely made it past Rose's lips. This was the kind of thing that happened on the news, a thousand miles away or on TV. What on earth could she do? Her mind was completely blank.  Not here, not now. She heard the police outside, seemingly as pathetic sounding as they were on TV. 

One, two steps backward. The click of her shoe against resounded like a clap of thunder in Rosie's mind. 

Something caught her eye, a man tossing something at the gunman. Rose released a smal squeak of fear

What wa hr playing at?