The delay was an eternity. Not even bothering to seek cover, Burke calmly raised his gun and fired, hitting Vaill squarely in the chest once, then again. It was as if he assumed Vaill was wearing Kevlar, and was purposely firing to stun, not to kill. The impact knocked Vaill off of his feet and onto his butt. Lou dove to his right, ducking behind an oversized armchair, wondering how much protection the cushions might afford. Twenty feet toward the massive windows, Burke stood erect, scanning the scene in front of him. It was then Lou realized the man was smiling.

Lou poked up from behind the chair just long enough to fire off several shots, all misses.

The bright flashes made his eyes tear; the acrid stench of gunpowder assaulted his nostrils; and the shots were temporarily deafening. He was a neophyte in a gun battle with a highly trained killer. Not good. Keeping his head down, he shot almost blindly toward where he thought the man was standing. He hit a window, shattering one of the panes, and at least forcing Burke to take some cover beside a leather sofa.

To Lou’s left, he saw that Vaill had clumsily retrieved his gun and stumbled to his feet. The vagueness in his eyes persisted. Lou could see the holes where at least two bullets had torn through his shirt and slammed into his bulletproof vest.

Thank God for Kevlar, Lou was thinking. But he knew it was just a matter of time—and not much time at that. In his condition, Vaill was even more of a mismatch for Burke than he was.

“Tim, get down!” he cried.

He fired another burst, this time, it seemed, with more patience and control. In fact, his third shot struck Burke somewhere in the upper leg. The killer swore and immediately fired back an angry volley, striking the sturdy easy chair inches from Lou’s ear. The way Burke lurched backward but did not fall, Lou felt certain that the wound was muscle or merely flesh, not bone.

Ignoring his leg, which was already bleeding through his khakis, Burke inserted a new ammo clip, hobbled to his right, and stopped in front of the massive windows, not fifteen feet from Vaill, who was still raising his weapon. Burke, his expression nearly serene, leveled his gun at the man he had not long ago failed to kill.

Lou, twenty-five feet away, and almost directly behind Vaill, watched the terrible scene unfold as if it were in slow motion.

“Maria,” he heard Vaill whisper, once and then again. “Maria.”

Lou stood and quickly moved to his left to open up a line of fire. He was Vaill’s backup. They were partners now. He trained his Glock in Burke’s direction and fired.

The click from his empty chamber was as loud as any gunshot.