Marissa allowed her eyes to leave the gun and rise to the guard’s face. He was staring in disbelief toward the short hallway to the elevators and stairwell. Marissa’s eyes followed his line of sight. Standing there, holding a gun of his own in both hands, was a rumpled figure. The gun was trained steadily on the guard.

“Aren’t you guys overreacting?” the stranger asked. “Now I want you to put that gun on the desk and move over to the wall. No fast moves. I’ve shot a lot of people in my day. One more wouldn’t make much difference.”

For a moment no one moved or spoke. The security guard’s gaze shifted from the newly arrived intruder to the Chinese man in the gray suit. He seemed to be contemplating whether or not to comply.

“The gun on the desk!” the stranger repeated. Turning to the man in the gray suit, he added: “Don’t you move!” The man had started to circle the room.

“Who are you?” the guard asked.

“Paul Abrums,” the man said. “Just a workaday, retired cop trying to earn a few dollars to supplement my pension. Certainly is lucky I was in the neighborhood to keep things from getting out of hand here. Now, I’m not going to tell you again: put the gun on the desk!”

Marissa stepped aside as the guard moved to the receptionist’s desk and laid his revolver down. Wendy got up from the floor and joined Marissa.

“Now,” Paul said. “If you two gentlemen would kindly step over to that wall and put your hands on it, I’d feel a lot better.”

The two Asians looked at each other, then complied. Paul went to the desk and picked up the revolver. He stuffed it into his trouser pocket. Turning his attention back to the men, he went up behind the guard and frisked him for additional weapons. Satisfied, he turned to the man in the gray suit.

In a flash, the man in the gray suit spun around with a guttural yell, kicking the gun from Paul’s hand and sending it flying across the room. It clattered to the floor near the windows.

Without missing a beat, the man assumed a crouched posture. With another yell, he aimed a second kick at Paul’s head.

Having been caught off-guard by the first kick, Paul was prepared for the second. An experienced street fighter, he ducked the kick and grabbed a chair and slammed it into his attacker’s midsection. The chair and the man ended up in a tangle on the floor.

Next, the security guard assumed a crouched position suggesting martial arts training. He came at Paul from the side as Paul vainly tried to extract the long-barreled Colt from his trouser pocket. Abandoning the gun for the moment, Paul grabbed a lamp from an end table and used it to parry the guard’s lightning thrusts.