“Now, Kitty.” Luke uncoupled his arm from hers and pushed her away. “And steer clear of the lobby. There’ll be plenty of exits on the other side of the hotel.”

She nodded, wiped her eyes. “Hide, Luke. Find the best spot you can, and don’t come out until a cop shines a flashlight into your face.”

He gave Kitty’s hand a firm squeeze, then she stepped away from him before she could change her mind. She worked her way around the pool area, moving from one shadow to the next. The first door she tried was locked. The next wasn’t. It was the same door they’d exited through.

Kitty glanced over her shoulder. The shadows around the pool were steady and deep. There was no sign of Luke. She eased open the door and turned her attention to both branches of a V-shaped corridor. No sign of Johan or Xander, either.

“Yet,” Kitty whispered. She looped her hand around the top of the belt, getting a tighter grip.

She edged inside.

The bullet—a 9mm—hit Tera’s side holster, which deflected and slowed it down, but not by much. It blasted through her left hip and knocked her to the floor. Tera cried out, clamping her open hand to the wound as she rolled clumsily to one side. She’d sensed another shot incoming and she was right. There was a thunderous crack, a burst of muzzle flash in the darkness, and a bullet ricocheted off the marble tile where she had been lying only seconds before.

Tera rolled again, then pushed herself to one knee and lunged for cover behind a stainless-steel food counter. Her vision pulsed. A grinding pain spiraled into her pelvis and down her left leg. She’d been shot before—had taken a .38 to the shoulder during a raid on a North Hollywood meth lab. Eight other cops had been with her then, and she’d been in the back of an ambulance within six minutes. That wasn’t going to happen now.

Another round zipped overhead. Tera flinched and pressed close to the food counter, then hooked her gun hand over the top and fired blind. Three shots, to keep Ruben on his toes, but also to buy her some time. She crawled to a new position, ripped off another shot.

“Come on,” she said shakily. The lights in the lobby dimmed. They stuttered. Or maybe that was her wavering vision. She crawled to the back of the restaurant, propped herself against a wall, and worked on her breathing. In and out, in and out. She bled through the cracks of her fingers.