Bucking his legs, he swung himself out and away from the chalet and then back in. Another swing built momentum, and as he flew toward the building, he let himself drop. He landed off balance on the slick balcony below, his heels skidding out from beneath him. He hit the balcony flat on his back.

Manny was standing on the other side of the sliding glass door right in front of Evan, peering directly at him. Evan’s inhale caught in his throat. Then he realized: Manny couldn’t see him. The room lights were on, and he was using the glass door for a mirror as he buttoned his shirt.

Evan lay perfectly still. Snow fell on the side of his cheek.

Two feet to the glass. Two feet more to Manny.

Manny’s mouth twitched to the side as he finished with his shirt, and then he flashed his golden smile at himself and turned away to grab socks off the bed.

Evan rolled smoothly back over his shoulders and out of view.

The neighboring balcony was within reach. He jumped onto it from the railing. He came down awkwardly but at least didn’t Charlie Brown the landing like last time.

The attached room looked empty. He checked the sliding glass door, found it locked.

Onto the next balcony, another graceless ballet leap through elegantly falling snow.

This slider opened under his touch.

He entered a dark bedroom that looked to be a match of his own. Moving swiftly, he crossed to the door, cracked it, and peered out. His vantage showed a clear shot up the hall to the stairwell.

Gliding the doorknob forward, he wheeled out, pivoting to check the blind length of hall to the hinge side of the door.

He found himself face-to-face with Nando.

36. A Real Fighter

36

A Real Fighter

Nando’s arm was raised; he was in the middle of taking a bite from a PowerBar. His elbow pinned the butt of the AK-47 slung around his neck, keeping it aimed forward.

Before Evan could move on him, he dropped the protein bar and leapt back, raising the gun. “¡Pare! Right there. Manos. ¡Manos!”

Evan did not lift his hands. Nando’s eyes darted, his Adam’s apple jerking with each inhalation. But his grip looked firm.

“This is a predicament,” Evan said. “You have your cuerno de chivo instead of the beanbag shotgun. I’m the item of value in this equation, not you. If you kill me, what will René say? After all his hard work?”

Sweat glossed Nando’s face. He lowered the tip of the AK, aiming at Evan’s thigh.

“Careful,” Evan said. “You hit an artery, I bleed out. Neither of us wants that.”