Delov stood at the end of the hall. A patch of moonlight sliding in through the lace curtains illuminated him, making him seem even larger and more dangerous than before. He squinted into the shadows, looking left and right and back again. I froze, not even daring to try to curl into a tighter, smaller ball. After a moment, the giant eased forward, heading toward the library, where Fletcher was still trying to get the yip-yappy Pomeranian to shut up.

Game time.

I waited until Delov had stepped into the library, then got to my feet and tiptoed across the hall, easing up against the wall. The giant snapped on a light, and its harsh golden glare filled the library like the rays of a noontime sun. Peaches started barking even louder. The dog scuttled out from underneath the desk, skipped over to Delov, and wound his way through the giant’s feet before prancing back over to the desk. The giant frowned, looking at the dog and watching his happy, excited movements. After a moment, his mouth tightened, and he raised his gun.

“Come on out from behind that desk,” Delov growled. “I’d hate to ruin all that antique wood by plugging it full of holes, but I will.”

Silence.

Then the leather chair rolled away from the desk, and Fletcher slowly crawled out from his hiding place and got to his feet. He faced Delov and raised his hands. Despite the healing salve he’d used, even more blood covered Fletcher’s blue shirt than before, along with the palms of his hands where he’d used them to keep pressure on the wound.

“You thought you could come into my house and murder me?” Delov snarled. “Who do you think you are?”

Fletcher just grinned at him, which only infuriated the giant even more. Delov stepped forward and leveled his gun at Fletcher’s head, ready to put a few more bullets into the old man.

And that’s when I made my move.

I slid into the library as quiet as a shadow. Delov was so focused on Fletcher that he never thought to look behind him, so he never saw me coming. Instead of going for the giant’s back, I aimed low, slicing my knife across his right hamstring as brutally as I could, hoping to put him down on my level, so to speak. Delov let out an angry, pain-filled bellow, even as his leg buckled and slid out from under him. The gun went off, shattering one of the glass windows to Fletcher’s right and not the old man’s skull.

But Delov wasn’t done. He rolled over onto his back, bringing his gun up and around and searching for the person who’d attacked him.