My mind raced, looking for a way out. If I could get the knife away from my throat, I could take Stan—I was sure of that without even having seen him. I could take down most guys twice my size in a fair fight.

“If I leave her here, Tower will kill her,” Ian said, and I flinched. That wasn’t something I’d planned to broadcast.

Cam glanced at me again, brows raised in question, and I could only nod carefully to confirm the fact.

Michaela whistled, and what little light made it into the alley glinted off the knife she spun over and over on her open palm. “Sounds like you signed on with the wrong side.”

“There is no right side,” I said, and I’d never believed that more.

“What’s it going to be, Holt?” Cam asked, and at my back, Silent Stan’s grip on my arm tightened, his knife shaking almost imperceptibly at my neck. He was nervous. Or maybe eager.

“There’s no good choice here,” Ian said, and Cam nodded in acknowledgment. There was nothing he could do about that. “If I go with you, Tower will kill Kori. If I opt to stay here, you’ll try to kill us both.”

“Try isn’t in my vocabulary,” Michaela said, and Ian’s brows rose.

“I suspect there are a great many words missing from your vocabulary,” he said, and she bristled. “But my point is that in the absence of a good choice, a bold one will often suffice.”

Meika scowled. “What the hell does that mean?”

Ian drew a gun from his waistband and aimed over my shoulder before I’d even realized he’d moved. Before Cam could even lift his own weapon. Ian fired, and the flash from his gun blinded me as gunfire echoed through the alley. I didn’t have time to be scared or surprised, which was good, because if I’d realized what was coming, I’d have ducked, and that would have pulled Silent Stan out of Ian’s aim.

The bullet thunked into flesh inches from my head, and for a moment, the knife pressed harder into my skin. Then Stan’s hand fell from my arm and his blade slid lightly across my neck in a downward arc.

I shoved the knife away, but not before it sliced a long, shallow cut from the left corner of my jaw almost to the center of my throat. I hissed at the sudden pain, then cursed over my own spilled blood—the biggest security risk possible.

Turning, I glanced at the still form on the ground behind me, then another gun flashed in the dark, and I heard the muted thunk of a silencer as Cam returned fire. But Ian was already moving. Cam’s bullet slammed into the brick wall just behind him. Ian fired again, and Cam shouted in pain. His gun clattered to the concrete and he slapped his left hand over his right arm.

“Leave, before they come for you,” Ian said, both his gun and his gaze trained steadily on Cam, and I could already hear footsteps pounding our way from across the street.

I gaped at him, one hand pressed to the sticky, bloody wound on my neck. Ian was fast. And he was good.

Systems analyst, my ass. Ian Holt had serious training.

“I can’t go back without you,” Cam said, and movement on my right drew my attention to where Michaela stood with her back to the Dumpster, feet spread for balance, a knife in each hand, ready to be thrown.

Ian shrugged at Cam. “Stay and let Tower’s men kill you. I don’t give a damn.” He turned to me then, his free hand open and waiting for mine though his aim at Cam never wavered. “Kori?”

I took one step toward him, then froze when gravel crunched behind me. I spun, one hand still pressed to my wound, and kicked the knife from Michaela’s left hand as she lunged for me. She swiped at me with her other hand and I kicked her in the chest, afraid that any use of my hands would splatter my blood all over the alley.

Michaela stumbled back and I kicked again. Her knife arced toward my leg. The blade hit my boot and snagged in the leather, but didn’t break through. I kicked one more time, and her knife clattered to the ground, then slid beneath the Dumpster. She howled in pain and clutched her arm, and as the first onlooker appeared in the mouth of the alley, I wasted one precious moment hoping her arm was broken. A lot.

“Stay back!” Ian shouted, waving his gun at the crowd starting to gather. Several ducked out of sight again, speaking into phones, but no one came closer. Not even Tower’s men, and surely there were at least a couple already reporting the incident.

“Michaela, take Cam and get out of here!” I whispered, as anger at him battled with my sympathy for the position he was in.

“I’m bleeding,” he protested as she tried to pull him into the darkest patch of night, on the other side of the Dumpster.

“Give me your bleach, and I’ll clean it up,” I said, holding my free hand out as Ian retrained his gun on Cam. He wasn’t taking any chances. And I couldn’t afford to use my own pocket-size bleach solution on Cam’s blood. But neither would I leave a viable sample of it in the alley to be used against him.

Cam hesitated, glancing from me, to Meika, to Ian, then back at me. Then he dug in his pocket with his good hand and tossed me a small clear plastic bottle, just like the one I carried at all times. Because you never know when you’re going to be attacked in a dark alley by a psychotic bitch and a former friend and coworker.

“Thanks,” he said, then he and Michaela stepped into the darkness and disappeared.

“Got a light?” I said to Ian as soon as they were gone. Then I realized I couldn’t open Cam’s bottle—not to mention my own—without the use of both hands.