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The woman. The woman they called Shaun.

Max shoved the door to the soundstage open. “Get inside!” he yelled, shoving the mother, shoving the girl. “There might be a bathroom. If there is, go in and hide.”

They stumbled through the door and he pulled it closed.

If Shaun wanted them, she’d have to get past him.

A
NOTHER SHOT, LOUD
in the walled ramp area, which echoed like a vault. Max clung like a limpet to the wall and slowly eased around the side of the cargo truck.

“You might as well come out,” the woman said. “I’ll shoot you clean.”

Liar!

Max resisted the urge to tell her what he thought of her.

After that there was silence. He couldn’t hear her, couldn’t see her. He had no weapon. His heart was pounding so hard he thought she could hear it. Could hear him breathing…

He did the only thing he could think of. He dropped to his knees and crawled under the truck.

The woman was stealth itself. But he saw her walk down the ramp. Saw her feet in the white athletic shoes. Whisper-quiet. There were three vehicles in line, and he saw her pause in front of the first two, crouch down, and look under. His truck was next.

T
ESS HEARD TWO
gunshots, spaced apart. They echoed, as if in a chamber. She came around the building, her 9 mm clasped in both hands and ready. She saw the long ramp down to the back entrance of the Diane von Furstenberg store, walled away from the parking lot, a loading dock partway down, and the two vehicles she’d seen on her first pass through: a box truck down at the end and a new Range Rover. The car closest to the top of the ramp and to her was a 1990s Nissan Stanza.

Squatting down beside the cargo truck was the dark figure of a woman.

Tess knew immediately who it was.
What
it was.

The woman.

As if the woman heard her, she stiffened. Her head whipped around in Tess’s direction and Tess could feel the eyes drilling into her, although of course she couldn’t see anything.

“Drop it!” Tess yelled. “Do it now!”

The woman laughed. She brought her weapon up and Tess fired.

Tess heard a yelp. Had she hit her? She squinted at the ramp, which was partially bathed in light and shadow.

Where was she?

The woman was gone.

M
AX HAD BEEN
watching the woman’s feet as she walked to each vehicle, saw the way the heels came up and the soles bent as she squatted down to look underneath the cars. Then down to her hands and knees.

Come here, you bitch!
he thought.
Come right over here.

He watched as the feet approached. He could almost feel the animal strength of her, the confident, easy way she moved. He knew she was aware of everything, like a mountain lion in the wilderness is aware. Unafraid of any other animal. Scenting her prey. He’d come face-to-face with a mountain lion once in the boonies. The thing had stared him down.

But you’re not going to get a chance to stare
me
down.

He willed her to come closer. Closer…

And she came.

The feet paused by the truck. He would grab her by the hands when she got down to look. By now, he had slithered under the oil pan and was positioned to strike.

Someone yelled, “
Drop it! Do it now!
”

The shout came from a short distance away. Max fixated on the shoes and saw the woman pivot. She was facing away from him at this moment.

He grabbed both ankles and yanked hard. She fell forward, landing on knees and elbows. Max felt the strength of ten men surge through him, a power line of adrenaline, his blood singing in his veins. With evil joy he dragged her effortlessly under, noting with pleasure how her head whacked the undercarriage of the truck.

Such sweet,
sweet
music.

T
ESS STARED AT
the spot where she’d last seen the woman.

Gone.

No—she was down on the ground, stomach-down on the concrete. Tess watched as the woman moved, then struggled. She was being dragged under the truck. Twisting like a viper, the woman aimed her weapon at whatever had hold of her legs.

Tess suddenly heard the bark of a tire, and then two or three loud revving engines that could only come from cop cars.

They were here!

And then she heard the loud bang.

Tess strained to see. Heard the sound of a car door closing and an engine starting up, and at the same time heard several car doors open up behind her. She saw the Nissan Stanza charge up the ramp and fishtail sideways, straighten out, and race across the parking lot.

One of the two DPS cars gave chase.

Tess yelled at the other one, “Get an ambulance! Man down!”

M
AX HAD THE
woman in his grip. he had the sweet spot. She was his. Yes, she was twisting, yes she was fighting, but he had her.

He was so busy congratulating himself, he didn’t see it coming.

He didn’t feel it either.

But he heard it. The sound was a clang like a bell, only
louder
, as loud as the world. A massive thunderclap of sound, ringing in his ears, crumpling his eardrums. Everything got bright and then darker, like play sets shifting and expanding and retracting and dissolving, everything in motion at once, and all he could do was hang. . .on. . .to. . .her. . .shoes.

Hang on.

Time expanded.

Someone speaking into his ear. “Hang on.”

But he realized he wasn’t hanging on to her anymore. She’d already slithered away.

He heard a car start up and lay scratch. A distant sound. His ears still rang from the gunshot.

He’d had her. He’d held her fast in his grip, but now she was gone.

Hang on.

Did she
shoot
me?

Was he hit? He thought she might have shot him point-blank. But he didn’t feel anything. He didn’t feel any pain, but his energy level wasn’t what it should be. All he could do was lie here on his side.

Someone was under the truck with him. Pulling at the waistband of his jeans, pressing something against him. He reached down to feel where the hand was. Where his stomach was. Blood oozed from a hole in his stomach. His stomach! Max knew he was in shock.

And then the pain came. Overwhelming, like a massive wave.

The person pushing against his stomach took the pressure off, and then put it back on. Something soft, like a cloth or a towel? Pressed hard against his lower body. And the person was saying, “It’s OK, Max. Just don’t move, OK? Just don’t move.” He knew the voice. Tess.

“Stay with me,” Tess was saying. Her voice calm, gentle. He could see her. He could see her placing her neat, short fingernails on the place mat at the diner…Was that just yesterday?

“Stay with me, Max, just hold on. You’ll be fine.”

Bright lights. People around him. The harsh glare, rushing sound. Aware that he was being moved, just as he had been on the gurney. But Max didn’t care now. He felt himself slipping away. He knew he was shot, because before there was the towel, his fingers had skated over blood—both wet and stiff at the same time. Like sticky red paint. It was him; it was his blood.

Sticky red paint.

T
HE MOTHER AND
daughter blundered into the store. Jerry barely registered their presence.

His brother lay on the floor. He’d shot himself. How could that be?

Gordon was dead. “Jesus,” he muttered. “Gordon.
Jesus.
”

The mother and the girl looked at Gordon in horror, then scurried past them, headed toward the bathrooms. Jerry wondered what the hurry was.

But he didn’t really care. He didn’t care about them. His brother was dead. And he was busy. He had to find the new story line.