He slid into view. Less than twenty feet from me, gun up, gaze sweeping the room with every step.

Heart hammering, I readied myself. If he saw me, I’d have to—

His gaze swung my way…and kept going. I exhaled a long, shuddering breath. If he was giving off any chaos vibes, I couldn’t detect them—they were too low to penetrate my own anxiety.

The gunman kept moving away, heading toward the back hall.

The back hall…where Karl was…

I fumbled for my phone. How could I open it without turning on the backlight? Damn it, I should know this!

The gunman walked along the wall. Ten feet above his head was the second tier, a wide ledge lined with the dark shapes of tables. I decided he was far enough that I’d risk the phone’s backlight, and was opening it when one dark shape on that second tier moved. A man’s figure swung over the low railing.

Karl landed square on the gunman’s back, his drop so soundless the man let out a startled yelp. The two men went down. I ran to cover Karl. As I passed the bar, I caught another motion, out of the corner of my eye. A figure on the top tier across the room, dressed in black, with something on his shoulder, long and—

“Karl! Partner!”

As the words left my mouth, I wished I could suck them back, say something clearer and I was about to yell “gun” when that gun swung my way. I dove, and Karl did the same, flinging the man off him and going for cover.

I scrambled under the nearest pool table, then scampered around the centerpiece, putting it between myself and the second gunman. I flattened out on my stomach, gun raised.

Something thumped against the table beside me. A soft sound, barely enough to carry. I swung my gun toward it.

“Stay,” Karl hissed.

While I could have slugged him for not “staying” himself, for taking the risk getting to me, I couldn’t deny a dart of relief when his dark figure dropped beside me.

“Shhh,” he said.

Again, I wasn’t the one who needed the warning, but I turned my attention to the path I’d been watching.

Karl slid closer, lips moving to my ear.

“They’re retreating. Heading for the side door. Two sets of footsteps.” He hung there, breath warm against my ear. “Still going. Still…The door. Open. Closed. Silence. Footsteps down the back hall. Receding. We’ll wait. Be sure.”

He stayed where he was, pressed up against me. After a minute, he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.

“You okay?” I whispered. “That drop—”

“—was nothing. But I think I wrenched my neck when you yelled.”

“Better than catching a bullet.”

“True. And you? I don’t smell blood, so I presume you’re okay?”