Selina pistol-whipped the gunman, knocking him senseless, and dived beneath the table. Just in time…

A SWAT team, each member in full body armor and a faceless black helmet, battered down the door. They fanned out through the bar, the lasers on their automatic rifles sweeping the premises, vivid in the smoke-laden air.

Right on schedule, she thought.

Cowering beneath the table, she screamed as though terrified. A helmeted trooper came to her rescue.

“It’s all right, miss,” he said gruffly. “Just stay down.”

The SWAT team stampeded past her, chasing Stryver and his remaining thugs into a back alley, even as wounded hoodlums groaned and writhed upon the floor. Making sure the coast was clear, she got up and strolled toward the door. A whimper caught her ear and she spied Congressman Gilly crouching beneath the bar, clutching his leg. The pathetic figure was a far cry from the smug politician in the campaign photo— no wonder the SWAT boys hadn’t ID’d him yet.

“Keep some pressure on that, sweetheart,” she advised him. She took a moment to adjust her dress.

Bleary eyes watched her leave.

“Call me?” he pleaded.

Blake chased after the SWAT guys, eager to get in on the action. A pretty girl in a black dress, rushing out of the bar, ran right into him. She looked terrified.

“There’s a man in there!” she said frantically, sounding scared out of her wits. “He’s bleeding!”

He did his best to calm her.

“It’s okay, miss,” he said. “It’s okay.”

Impatient to get into to the bar, and frustrated by the delay, he nonetheless took the time to guide the distraught young woman to safety, leaving her on the tailgate of one of the parked SWAT vehicles. There would be time enough for someone to take her statement…later. Right now, the congressman was still missing—and the perps might be getting away.

Gun drawn, he raced into the bar, where his fellow officers were already rounding up a bunch of confused and injured lowlifes. A sloppy-looking bum was sprawled by the bar, blood soaking through his soiled trousers. His hair was disheveled and he reeked of booze. Stubble dotted his jowls.

“Help me,” he whimpered.

It took Blake a moment to recognize the missing congressman.

“I’ve got him,” he reported into the radio on his shoulder. He gave the injured politician a quick onceover. “Bullet to the leg, but he’s okay.”

In his excitement, he forgot all about the girl in the black dress.

A firefight broke out in the alley behind the bar. Vicious hoodlums, desperate to get away, opened fire on the SWAT teams, who returned fire with extreme prejudice. The sound echoed off the grimy brick walls of the alley. Bullets ricocheted off rusty trash bins and dumpsters. Frightened rats scurried for safety. Broken glass, cigarette butts, syringes, crack vials, and other debris crunched beneath the heels of the racing cops and criminals.

Laying down a blistering volley of cover fire, a group of the crooks darted into an even narrower passage.