Swann then saw the woman detective, on her side, coughing and squinting as she gazed around her. A Glock was in her hand. Swann went for it—he hadn’t had time to collect his pistol outside. He recalled her limping and the occasional wince, recalled too her references to the health problems he’d learned about when he’d hacked her phone. He now saw a frown of pain cross her beautiful face as she tried to rise and draw a target on him. The delay was enough for him to leap forward, tackling her before she fired.

“Amelia!” came the voice from the distance once more.

As they grappled fiercely—she was stronger than she looked—she shouted, “Shut up, Ron! Don’t say anything more!”

She was protecting him. When Jacob Swann got her gun he’d fire in the direction of the shouts.

Slamming a fist into his ear, with surprising and painful force, she spat the chemical smoke residue from her mouth and pitched hard into him. Swann hit her in the side and tried to grip her throat but she shoved his arm away and delivered another blow to the side of his head. “Get out, Ron. Go for help. You can’t do anything here!”

“I’ll get backup.” Running footsteps, exiting. A door in the back crashed open.

Swann elbowed her, aiming for the belly, but she twisted just in time to avoid a debilitating blow to the solar plexus. Sachs drove a fist into his side, near his kidney, which sent a burst of pain up to his teeth. Still gripping the wrist of her gun hand, he slugged her hard in the face with his left fist. She grunted and winced.

Thinking again of her injury, he slammed a knee into hers, and she gave a gasping cry. The pain seemed to be intense. It loosened her guard for a moment and his strong hand clawed farther toward the gun in her hand. He was almost to it. Another few inches.

He kicked her joint again. This time she barked a high scream and her grip on the gun slackened even more. Jacob Swann lunged for the weapon.

He touched the grip of the Glock—just as she flung her hand backward, releasing her hold. The pistol spiraled away, invisible in the smoke.

Shit…

Tugging at each other’s clothing, trading glancing blows and direct strikes, rolling on the floor, they fought desperately. Smelling sweat, smoke, a hint of perfume. He tried to force Sachs to her feet, which, with her damaged knee, would give him the advantage. But she knew it would be all over then and kept the fight on the ground, grappling and striking.