His muscles tensed. His cells sang. It would come down to instinct, timing, and luck.

Four.

The high-set windows threw Xalbador’s shadow forward next to Evan. He flicked his eyes over, reading the dark outline, noting the shotgun’s position. Letting his right hand dangle, he gripped his jeans at the thigh and gave a little tug, the pant leg riding up a few inches, putting the garrote within reach.

Dex cast a last glance back at Evan before pivoting, his hand starting to rise to the sensor panel beneath the big steel handle of the Lexan door.

Two steps.

One.

The fine hairs on Dex’s arm glistened in the morning light. His big hand spread, that tattooed grimace growing even broader, the blood-dripping canines coming clear. Everything moved in slow motion, as if Evan were again living inside that single drop from René’s syringe.

Dex’s giant palm touched the panel.

The inset screen flared to life, reading the road map of veins beneath the skin.

MATCH.

The lugs released.

The foot-thick door swung open. Three inches. Six. A foot. Dex’s hand was still raised, the flared fingers starting to retract.

Evan yanked the bootlace noose from his pocket. He stepped not for Dex but past him, lunging for the widening gap in the door. As he skimmed by Dex’s shoulder, he lassoed the still-raised hand. Xalbador shouted, the shotgun aimed, but Evan had already put Dex between himself and the barrel.

Dex wheeled, disoriented by the fact that Evan was fleeing into the Lexan room instead of away from it. Dex was spinning in one direction, Evan in the other. With his free hand, Evan grabbed for the .45.

And missed.

For an instant he tumbled toward the Lexan vault, his left hand gripping the end of the bootlaces, his right flailing.

Then the slack came out of the laces.

The noose cinched around Dex’s wrist. His arm snapped straight. Evan held on with everything he had.

His momentum carried him past the razor-sharp edge of the doorway, across the threshold, into the vault. He seized the inside door handle and slammed the bulky door shut as hard as he could.

It hammered Dex above the junction of his wrist, nearly cleaving the arm in two.

Dex’s mouth stretched wide, his lips wavering. It was really strange to see a man scream and not make a sound.

Evan put all his weight against the handle, pinning Dex’s arm. He’d released the noose, but the knot held, the laces embedded in the flesh at the base of Dex’s hand a few inches below the massive wound.

Holding the blood in the veins.

Now he just had to remove the hand.