Slow down? We couldn’t afford to slow down, not while we were still in the mansion. Delov having a gun was bad enough, but if the giant caught us, he could always beat us to death with his fists. They were almost as big as the wheels of cheese he’d been cutting into.

Still, it was an order from Fletcher, so I stopped and turned around—and that’s when I realized he was bleeding. An ugly bullet hole had ruined his blue work shirt, close to where his left lung would be.

I gasped. “You’re hurt!”

Fletcher tried to smile, but his green eyes crinkled with pain. “Looks that way.”

For the first time, I heard the hoarse, raspy wheeze in his voice. It sounded like the bullet had done something to his lung, maybe even punctured or collapsed it, which meant I needed to get him to Jo-Jo—right now.

“Come on,” I whispered, putting my arm under his shoulder and preparing myself to drag him the rest of the way out of the house, across the grounds, and into the woods. “I’m getting you out of here.”

Fletcher shook his head. “No. Not before the job’s done. We have to get Delov tonight. This is our best chance—our only chance. All of his guards are gone. It’s just him and us. We have to end him now.”

“But you’re hurt,” I pointed out. “And he has a gun. Maybe more than one by now. You always told me that it was okay to walk away from a botched job. And we both know that I messed this one up.”

Fletcher shook his head again. “A dog barked. It happens, Gin, even to the best of us.”

He bent over and started coughing. He put his hand to his mouth, but I still saw the blood trickle out between his fingers.

“Here, at least sit down,” I said, helping him over to a nearby chair. “Rest for a few seconds, and then we’ll get out of here.”

“No,” Fletcher said, his mouth settling into a thin, stubborn line. “I made a promise to the Kilroy family, and I intend to keep it. Besides, I’ll be easy pickings for Delov now. We both know how fond he is of taking care of his dirty work himself.”

In addition to his love of gourmet food, Delov also fancied himself something of a hunter, and more than one poor animal’s head decorated the walls of his mansion. He even had a poaching trip planned for his time in the Keys. So I had no doubt that Delov would relish the challenge of tracking us down.

Fletcher couldn’t kill the giant. Not now, not with that injury.

But I could.

“Give me your knife,” I whispered.

He stared at me in surprise. “You don’t have to do this, Gin. I can finish it. I can—”