“Should I join you in th—” He stopped in the doorway, his arm partially outstretched to pet the cat perched on the counter, his words halting right along with the rest of him. The shirt of his uniform was unbuttoned and hanging open, displaying the bulletproof vest he always wore underneath it. He stood there, frozen by shock for barely a second.

“Jesus, Kat.” He lunged into the bathroom and yanked the shower door open, reaching in to turn off the water. He stepped into the shower, shoes and all, and crouched down before me. “What happened?” His hands hovered around me, like he was afraid I was physically injured. Like it would matter if I was. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

I watched him, took in his concern and confusion, wrapped them around me like the fact that he gave a shit about me might soothe the invisible wound caused by my razor-sharp shame. “No—” The word was barely a whisper, and I cleared my throat. “I’m fine. I—” I squeezed my eyelids shut, but it only made Carmichael’s face clearer in my mind’s eye. It only sharpened the sting of regret.

Garth’s fingertips touched my cheek, a gentle caress following the contours of my cheekbone and jaw. “Kat . . .” He was quiet for a moment. “What can I do to help you?”

Much as I wished there were magic words he could utter, some secret touch that could cure what ailed me, I knew better. There was nothing he could do but let me wallow until the mood passed. I opened my mouth, intending to tell him as much, but the words caught in my throat. I sat up ramrod straight and snapped my head to the left to stare at the slate-tiled wall like I could see through it to the kitchen and the front door.

People. I could hear them, out in the hallway. They were moving slowly, quietly, but I could still make out the sounds of them arranging themselves around the door to Garth’s condo. There were only two reasons for a group of people to arrange themselves around a door like that—either they were setting up to sing Christmas carols, or they were planning to bust the door down. I narrowed my eyes. There had to be at least eight of them fanning out in the hallway, maybe more.

“Wha—” Garth started, but I slapped my hand over his mouth.

“Someone’s here,” I hissed. I heard the sound of clicking metal. A terrible, ill-boding sound. An unmistakable sound. Guns. Automatic. Big.

The door crashed open, and I had Garth’s gun drawn before he even had a chance to reach for it. “Get down,” I mouthed, anticipating impending gunfire.

Eva jumped off the counter and low-crawled deeper into the bathroom to hide behind the toilet.

Garth caught my wrist as I squeezed past him through the open shower door. “You can’t go out there!” he whispered, his words no less vehement for their quietness.