Jack led with the weapon, closet to room, pulling in detail in rapid order.

Security Dude, shirt unbuttoned, pants around his knees.

Wilson, stripped down to bra, ass up, face down on the bed.

Service weapon, holstered, a couple feet to the left of her head.

Security Dude noticed him first.

Shock registered before hips stopped thrusting.

He lunged for the holster.

Jack fired, bullet to the bed, bullet to the guy’s shoulder.

Liv Wilson jerked upright in a mad scramble to disentangle.

Jack said, “Freeze.”

It was the cliché of every cop show ever, but it had the desired effect.

The room held motionless, suspended in time.

Jack moved in closer, muzzle aimed at Wilson’s head, and he snagged the holster strap and tossed the whole thing off the bed. He motioned to Security Dude. “Hands up. Step out of your pants.” And then, “Walk backward till you reach the window and turn.”

Liv Wilson inched toward the nightstand.

Jack put another round into the bed.

“Last warning,” he said. “Next one will hurt.”

He could see her face now.

Whatever was on it wasn’t fear, and that was stupid.

Security Dude reached the window, turned, as instructed.

Jack motioned Wilson off. Under other circumstances it might’ve been hard not to look at her, but right now all he cared about was where her hands were and how far he could get her from whatever weapons she had stashed around the room.

He motioned her opposite the window.

“Walk backward,” he said. “Turn when you reach the wall.”

He retrieved Dude’s weapon and, with one muzzle pointed toward the window and the other toward the wall, nudged a foot into the guy’s pants and kicked them to the center of the room. He checked pockets, emptied contents into his own.

To Wilson, he said, “Where are your cuffs?”

She said, “I don’t . . .”

This would be so much easier if killing wasn’t such a last resort.

He put a bullet into the wall, inches from her head.

She said, “Bedside, top drawer.”

He inched to the bed, nudged the drawer open. Reached in, felt the underside, found a small revolver and also the cuffs. He pocketed the gun, dropped the restraints at the end of the bed. To Wilson, he said, “Walk backward. Pick up the cuffs, hold your hands out where I can see them, and continue to the window.”

This time she did as instructed.