She continued speaking, but Luke didn’t hear. He was caught on an updraft of hope, floating over the hotel, over the desert. There was a possibility that Lisa would be found, that she would be given time to heal, to love, to remember. And Kitty . . . if she managed to escape the hotel and flag down a good ol’ boy, maybe there were better days ahead for her, too.

A sob bubbled from Luke’s chest, and tears—warm tears—spilled from his eyes. He wanted to thank Tera, but couldn’t bring himself to say those two small words. Yes, she had saved his life, but hadn’t she also cut a deal with Johan?

“You were tracking me,” he said. “You told that crazy fucking Viking where I was. You asked him to kill me.”

“I fucked up, Luke.” A look of extreme remorse swam through all the discomfort and tiredness on her face. “Listen, I was wrong, and—”

She was cut off by a scream from the hotel. Luke got to his feet, quicker than he should have. The pain rattled through him and his interior lights dimmed. He puffed out his chest and fought on.

“Kitty,” he said.

Tera nodded. She also got to her feet, but slowly, and managed three steps toward to the hotel before her legs buckled and she hit the flagstone.

“I can’t,” she gasped. “I can’t move, I—”

“Give me your gun.”

Grimacing, she slapped her semiauto into Luke’s hand. “You know how to use one of these?”

“Yeah, I did six weeks at Brock’s Urban Shooter.” He extended the Beretta, looking down the sights. “Training, for A Bullet Affair.”

“This isn’t a movie, Luke.” She gritted her teeth and wiped the back of one bloody hand across her forehead. “You shoot someone, they’re not getting up after the cameras stop rolling.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Luke started away from her and she called after him, clearly determined to finish what she had started to say a few moments before. Maybe she thought he was going to die and she wouldn’t get another chance, and maybe she was right.

“I was wrong about you.” Her voice warbled, but it was sincere. “I’ve never been more wrong about anything in my life, and I’m sorry.”

He left her bleeding in the shadows.

Kitty scrabbled backward, the soles of her sneakers pushing at the slick floor. Johan brought his ax down and it cracked off the tile between her feet. He lifted it for another shot, teetered unsurely for a second, then regained himself. Blood streamed down his face, into his eyes and mouth. His beard was red and wet.

He screamed with enough force to make the walls buckle, the floor rise. Kitty clawed herself away from him. He stopped her by planting one boot on her chest.