Rickard’s bullet had struck me in the meat of my thigh. It felt like Thor had smacked me with his hammer, the pain a white-hot flame followed by the numb sensation of traumatized nerve endings. My leg had lost its ability to support me and I’d nowhere to go but down. The balustrade would have halted my fall, if not for the fact that the bullets fired by the HRT troopers had cut it to pieces. It crumbled and I fell.

Experiencing slow motion is an aspect of endorphin overload. My mind was working faster than the ability of the real world to keep up. My eyes saw and pigeon-holed the various images that flashed before me.

Bits of the railing drifting toward the ground like feathers caught on a breeze, intermingling with droplets of my blood.

The sky pitching slowly, becoming the green of the lawns and then the gray of the gravel path at the base of the wall.

Rink running, arms outstretched, intending snatching me out of the air like he was Superman coming to the rescue.

My left hand shooting out and grabbing at the edge of the roof. Fingertips digging in, thumb curling under the stone ridge.

The wall coming at me.

Then things returned to normal as I slammed against the wall, my nose and left eyebrow taking the brunt of the force. It was almost sickening enough to make me loosen my grip and give in to the inevitable.

But I didn’t.

I clung on for dear life.

I’m a fatalist. I know I’m not going to live forever, but I wasn’t ready to cash in my chips just yet. When it’s my time to go, then so be it, but I wanted it to be after Luke Rickard wasn’t a threat to anyone else.

I kicked and scrabbled at the wall with the toes of my boots. My right leg was numb, couldn’t rely on it to support my weight, so I concentrated on finding a foothold with my left. My arm felt stretched beyond belief, like it was coming undone at all the joints. I had seconds before it gave out. Glancing down, I knew that Rink wouldn’t make it to stop my fall, and even if he did I’d probably kill the two of us.

I needed my right hand.

It was holding my SIG and I loathed giving it up.

With not even enough time to slip it into my waistband, I had no option.

I let it drop, arching it out toward Rink.

Let him save my gun instead. I’d collect it from him later if I managed to stay alive.