“I can do it,” Lennon said. “Throw it, I mean. My shooting skills also leave something to be desired.”

Maisie shook her head. “Forget it. I’ll do it myself.”

“You can’t do both,” Hadley said.

“Sure I can.” She reached her left hand out for the bottle. Pain seared up her arm as she tried to close her fingers around it. She gasped and pulled her hand back.

“Did you break your hand again?” Hadley asked. “Don’t you still have a metal plate in there from last time?”

“It might just be bruised.” She moved her fingers and winced. “Shit.”

“I can do it,” Lennon repeated. “Seriously. I have a good arm.”

Maisie sighed. It was her only option, unfortunately.

She stepped closer to him. “You can’t wuss out at the last minute, okay? You’re going to throw that and light those assholes on fire, and I don’t want you getting a sudden attack of conscience when we step out there.”

He nodded.

“Because if you do that, all three of them will fire on us, and we’re both dead. Okay?”

“Okay.”

The man carefully handed the bottle to Lennon, along with a lighter.

Maisie moved closer to the door. He followed her, his eyes on the bottle in his hand.

“You light that the second I open this door. I’m going to move to the left immediately, and you’re going to come out, throw it, and hit the deck. Hadley, stay right behind us, just in case we need backup.”

Lennon nodded. Hadley pulled out her gun and took off the safety.

Maisie put her hand on the doorknob. She met Lennon’s gaze. He looked calm, strangely enough. Maybe later she’d ask him if this was his first time throwing a Molotov cocktail. She got the impression that it was not.

“On three,” she said. “One…two…three!”

She pulled the door open and darted onto the porch. The men in the truck both turned. She aimed her gun at the man on the street.

Lennon ran out the door, arm poised to throw. He took two quick steps and let the bottle fly.

It sailed through the air with surprising speed. He had not been kidding about having a good arm.

It crashed into the truck bed. Flames engulfed the men.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lennon hit the deck, as ordered. A bullet sailed past her ear.

She fired her gun. Lopez jumped to his feet.

The man jerked as her bullet hit him in the shoulder, but he didn’t go down. She fired again.

He turned, aiming his gun at Lopez instead of at her.

Shit.

She fired again, but so did he. Lopez collapsed.

She darted off the porch as she squeezed the trigger again. The man took off, weaving so that her bullets sailed just past him. He raced for the truck and threw open the driver’s door.

One of the men in the truck rolled out and onto the ground, desperately trying to extinguish the fire on his pants.