“Stay down.” Franks went to the doorway, looking for the first shooter. The double had to be a doppelganger or something of that nature, but those things died easily enough when you started pumping them full of bullets. But there was no sign of his duplicate. There were bodies on the floor, some injured, some dead. There was too much movement. People were running for the stairs. The shooter had to be here some—

A shape crashed through the cubicles. A section of wall was being pushed directly toward him. Franks moved the muzzle of the Colt over and opened fire, but it was coming at him so fast he was only able to put half a dozen rounds through it before the wall hit him. He braced for impact.

Franks was not used to being bowled over.

The Colt went spinning across the carpet as he was flung back into his office. Up in an instant, Franks turned to meet the threat. The partition was tossed aside, revealing what appeared to be a normal man. Early twenties, Hispanic, six foot one, one eighty, dressed in a black suit, but from the way he was ignoring several grisly rifle wounds to the chest, probably not a human. Franks launched himself forward, swinging for the man’s head.

The attack was intercepted by a raised forearm. Bones collided, and Franks came away with one arm stinging.

That was unusual.

Without any hesitation, Franks attacked with everything he had. It was a blur of fists, elbows, and knees. The man slid back across the carpet, taking the pounding, but protecting his head and torso. Then he countered, hands flashing back and forth with incredible speed. Franks barely managed to swat them aside. Dozens of blows were exchanged in a matter of seconds. A ridged hand that made the air whistle ripped a red line across Franks’ forehead.

Another. Franks pulled back, trying to save his eyes, but his back hit the wall. Fingers cut through his cheek. Not claws. Fingers. Franks swung, but the man ducked, and Franks hit nothing but air. His opponent came right back up and hooked a fist into Franks’ abdomen. The blow lifted him off the ground. Hands landed on his shoulders and Franks was jerked forward, spun around, and tossed hard into a nearby desk.

The man was coming after him.

His opponent stepped onto the fallen cube wall, so Franks kicked it out from under him. They both came up at the same time, but Franks had a head start and that was all it took. He slammed one fist into the man’s face, and then Franks was hitting him with blows that would break cinder blocks. And he knew that for a fact because he practiced on cinder blocks. His opponent made the smallest mistake, dropping one hand a bit too late, and Franks drove a quick jab into his mouth. A human jaw would have exploded. He turned a bit, and Franks snap-kicked him in the stomach. The shot would have staggered a vampire.