Evan shot him in the chest.

René slammed against the wall. Something fell from his pocket, bouncing over the jumbled bodies before coming to rest on the floor.

A vial filled with a familiar viscous clear fluid.

René let out a cry, his fingers clutching his rib cage. Muted sobs shuddered his shoulders.

Then he straightened up. His hands fell away. In his palm a flattened slug.

Evan’s head swam with impossibilities—René’s vampiric experiments had made him bulletproof? But then logic kicked in. Images assembled slowly in his mind, the way René’s jacket never wrinkled, how the fabric seemed to buckle rather than fold.

The suit was bulletproof.

Over the years Evan had heard of civilian clothing built with the same carbon nanotubes used in flexible body armor. And now he’d wasted his last bullet firing into an impenetrable navy plaid coat.

René coughed, doubling over and clutching his ribs. He glanced at the vast opening blown through the rear wall a few feet away. Grimacing, he forced himself upright.

Evan cast aside the empty Kimber and advanced on him.

Still holding his ribs, René hobbled for the hole.

Evan had only taken his first step when he heard movement behind him. Xalbador stumbled through the rear doorway; the explosion had blasted him right across the threshold into the hall. He looked ragged, dragging one foot. Blood crusted his earlobes, and he was making unintelligible noises. The Kalashnikov dangled around his shoulder from its strap.

With an injured arm, he tried to tug the AK up to aim at Evan. The barrel lifted a few inches, firing into the floor past the tips of Xalbador’s boots. He struggled to support the gun with his other hand, to raise it higher and bring Evan into the sights.

Evan halted in the middle of the ballroom, Xalbador behind him, René ahead. Xalbador managed to heft the gun closer to horizontal. The next burst chewed up the floorboards midway between him and Evan. The recoil knocked the AK from Xalbador’s hands. He clawed at it, drawing it up again from the strap.

Instinct surged in Evan to go for René. But if he did, he’d be leaving himself exposed, and Xalbador looked to be seconds away from steadying the AK.

Wheezing, René reached the edge of the crumbled wall. He cast a panicked look back at Evan and then slipped outside.

Evan turned and ran for Xalbador. Sweat greased the narco’s face. Biting his lower lip, Xalbador struggled to fight the gun back into position. His damaged arms couldn’t sustain the weight. As Evan closed in, the muzzle came up crooked, firing wildly to the side.