Now that we were both armed, Garth with his sidearm and me with a two-foot, hollow iron pole, we’d at least be able to put up a fight. Of course, we’d be sitting ducks stuck in here, little more than target practice for the mercs outside.

“Look up, little sister,” Dom said. “People rarely expect an attack from above.”

I glanced up at the ceiling. This was a top-floor unit; there should be just enough room for me to crawl around up there. I climbed up onto the vanity counter and shoved the iron pole through the drywall ceiling. “Thanks, Dom,” I said under my breath.

Garth ducked, his hands going over his head. “What are you doing?”

“Keep them distracted, OK?” The corner of my mouth lifted, and I quirked my head to the side. “And try not to get shot. I’m going out a different way . . .”

I stared up at the ragged opening overhead. It was just under two feet wide; plenty of room for me to fit through. I reached up, balancing the iron bar across the two-by-fours framing the ceiling, then grasped the supports. I glanced down at Garth. “Give me a boost?”

Dubious, Garth crawled out of the shower and stood, crouching. He kept shooting furtive glances at the door. Not surprising, because I could hear the mercenaries gathering in the bedroom. We had a handful of seconds before that door came down, and unless I managed to get up into the ceiling and surprise them from above and behind, we’d both be dead in not much longer. I just needed Garth to hold them off for a fraction of a second, and holding them off might include taking fire. It was risky, but we didn’t really have any other choice.

Garth wrapped a hand around either of my ankles and lifted. “Be careful,” he said, his voice polished gravel.

I renewed my grip on the two-by-fours, flexed my arms, and pulled myself up into a maze of ducts, wiring, and insulation. I sort of bear-crawled in the general direction of the bedroom. With any luck, the mercs wouldn’t have a chance to do anything to Garth until it was too late and I was already on them. With any luck . . .

I’d just reached the ceiling vent in the bedroom when there was a crash, and the first crack of gunfire exploded below me. Heart pounding, I held my breath and smashed through the drywall ceiling, dropping almost directly on top of one of the intruders. The gas burned my eyes, but so long as I continued to hold my breath, my lungs were safe. It was a short “so long as . . .”

I yanked off the merc’s gas mask as we both crumpled to the floor. Tears streamed down my cheeks, and my eyelids slammed shut reflexively. I forced them open, squinting around me, but the thick yellowish-white gas was almost impossible to see through in the evening darkness.