Kori helped him to his feet while he held my bloody shirt to his wound with his opposite hand. Then she pulled him through the darkest corner of the room.

The moment they were gone, I headed into the hallway, with another glance in both directions, just in case.

“Will he be okay?” Sera asked as I tried doorknob after doorknob. Most were unlocked, and all of the rooms were empty, which seemed to verify the fact that the building had been completely deserted.

“Ian?” I said, and she nodded, moving to the next door on her side of the hall. “Probably. Shoulder wound. Through-and-through, from the looks of the blood on the wall behind him. Gran will get him all patched up. But if we don’t destroy his blood, Julia will be able to use it against him, and Ian will wish he were dead.”

I threw open another door and found a break room with three card tables set up on the left, opposite a wall-length counter on the right, complete with two microwaves and a full-size fridge.

I headed straight for a package of napkins abandoned on the counter, and Sera started to follow me, probably to search the cabinets. But then she noticed an open door beyond the first table, which hadn’t been visible from the hall. It was a bathroom.

She veered into the restroom and knelt to open the cabinet beneath the sink as I started opening cabinets in the kitchenette.

“Don’t move.”

I froze, the package of napkins tucked under one arm. My pulse raced, and I hoped he was talking to me, not Sera.

“Turn around slowly and put your hands on the back of your head. You even look like you’re gonna go for your gun, and I’ll blow your fucking head off.”

Bittersweet relief took the edge from the stress of knowing a gun was aimed at my back. He had to be talking to me. Sera was unarmed.

I turned slowly and considered letting the napkins fall, so I could go for my gun at the first opportunity. But if the shooter was jumpy, he’d open a hole in my chest before they even hit the ground.

A man in a security guard’s uniform—matching the dead man’s—stood in the middle of the break room, aiming his silenced pistol at me with his back to the bathroom. He hadn’t seen Sera yet.

He was one of Julia’s, just like the last guy. Ordinary security guards don’t carry suppressors.

At his back, Sera slowly, silently set a bottle of bleach on the floor, then stood without a sound. I couldn’t look directly at her without exposing her, and my peripheral vision wasn’t good enough to tell what she was up to. Which made me nervous. She had a history of confronting gunmen—she’d demanded my gun and foiled the aim of the dead man in the hall—and if she got herself killed trying to help me, I would never forgive myself.

“Unsnap the gun pocket from your holster and set it down, then kick it across the floor to me.” The guard’s aim held steady at my chest. Behind him, Sera glanced around the bathroom, and I had a horrible hunch that she was looking for a weapon.

I lifted both brows at the gunman as Sera knelt to pick up a bottle of spray cleaner, and I hoped she’d understand that my response was actually aimed at her. “This is a little ridiculous,” I said. “I don’t need a gun to kill you.” That last part, obviously, was for the bad guy.

“Humor me,” he said. “Hand over the gun.”

Sera silently turned the end of the nozzle, opening the spray bottle, and my heart began to beat too hard. What the hell was she planning to do, shine his bald spot?

When she picked up a toilet plunger and hefted it, testing the weight, I nearly groaned. The handle was too light to pack a punch, and the rubber part on the end would do about as much damage as the proverbial wet noodle.

Her boots were silent on the tile, as the guard watched me unsnap my gun pocket. Her last step squeaked on the floor, and my heart nearly burst through my chest when he heard her and turned, his aim shifting with the movement.

Sera swung the plunger at his arms, driving his aim down as she sprayed the cleaner in his face.

The guard screamed.

I fumbled, trying to pull my pistol from the partly detached pocket.

The guard’s gun went off with a thwack. A chunk of linoleum tile exploded to my left, and my heart leaped into my throat as I lurched out of the fire zone. The gunman abandoned his two-handed grip to rub his eyes, still screaming, and Sera shoved the stick end of the plunger into his stomach with a wild grunt of effort.

The guard oofed and swung the gun toward her. She ducked below his blind aim just before the thwack, and the bullet slammed into the wall at my back.

I let go of the gun pocket, and it dangled from my holster by one snap as I launched myself at the blinded guard, trying to pull his gun away before he could fire again. Sera circled us, struggling to stay out of the line of fire as we fought over the weapon.

The gun went off twice more, and my heart stopped with each muffled shot, certain I’d just met my own death. Shooting the guard would have been easier than wrestling his gun from him, but he had to live long enough to be interrogated.

Still trying to avoid the kill zone, Sera bumped into the countertop next to the fridge, then turned to pull it open. It was empty, as was every drawer she tried. The only thing that wasn’t nailed down, other than the furniture and the microwaves, was...

She grabbed the cheap four-slice toaster and jerked so hard the cord pulled free from its plug. Stay back, I thought, as she circled us, avoiding the gun we still fought over, looking for her chance.

When I understood that she wasn’t going to stop trying to help until I’d gotten the guard’s gun, I realized I’d have to work with her, instead of silently cursing her dangerous involvement. I jerked hard on the guard’s wrists, avoiding his trigger finger, and swung him around in a half circle.