“No.” Ian flicked the safety switch on the gun and shoved it back into his waistband, then glanced at the mouth of the alley, where the crowd was reforming. “Anyone got a flashlight?”

After a moment of hesitant silence, three people produced key chain penlights and a fourth pulled a sizable LED flashlight from the pocket of his cargo pants. With their help—I recognized chain links on the arms of two of the men—we scanned the alley quickly but thoroughly for blood and poured bleach everywhere we spotted it.

Only once we’d destroyed both mine and Cam’s blood did I realize that Ian was bleeding, too. Cam’s bullet had grazed his upper arm before slamming into the concrete wall and his sleeve was dark and wet. None had dripped beyond the cloth, that I could tell, but that couldn’t last forever.

“Let’s go,” I whispered, even as my phone began to buzz in my pocket. I thanked the flashlight volunteers, then pulled Ian into the darkness with my good arm. A moment later, we stepped into his hotel bathroom, and I flipped on the light to see him holding the paper bag from the restaurant. Somehow, in spite of killing one man, shooting another, and being shot himself, he’d managed to salvage our dinner.

I laughed out loud. I couldn’t help it.

“What?” Ian shrugged and set the bag on the marble bathroom counter. “You said you were hungry.”

“Wow. What would you do if I said I was angry?”

“I would make fire rain from the heavens to smite your enemies with the flames of our shared rage.”

My eyebrows arched halfway up my forehead. “That sounds like poetry and feels like war. I like it.”

“I thought you might.”

“You don’t see that very often in the city. There isn’t enough smiting with flames.”

“No, but there’s more than enough blood.” He held up his arm, which was still dripping blood down his sleeve, and one glance in the mirror showed me what I’d already felt—that my neck and shirt were soaked in my own blood. “I’ll call down for another first-aid kit,” he said.

“I’m going to run home and clean up, but I’ll be back as soon as I can, okay?” I said, and he nodded from the hall, already heading for the room phone.

I turned the bathroom light off, then stepped through the shadows and into my own room.

“Kenley!” I shouted, before I even had the light on, and she called back from the living room.

“In here.”

“I need some help.” I pulled my shirt off on the way to the bathroom and dropped it into the tub, then grabbed a clean rag from the rack over the toilet and pressed it to my neck.

Kenley stepped into the hall and her eyes widened with one look at the rag and the blood staining both my chest and my bra. “What the hell happened?” She took the rag from me and gasped at the sight of my wound.

“Looks worse than it feels.”

“Good, because it looks like someone tried to slice your head off.”

“Pretty much. And I think Jake’s already heard about it,” I said when my phone buzzed in my pocket again. A headache had already started—resistance pain from not answering his call immediately.

“Want me to talk to him?” She pushed me toward the toilet, where I closed the lid and sat while she dug beneath the sink for first-aid supplies.

“No, just patch me up and I’ll call him myself.” I didn’t want her to have anything to do with Ian. Jake didn’t need any more of an excuse to hold her responsible for my failures.

Kenley poured peroxide onto another clean rag, then pressed it against my neck. I hissed at the sharp sting, but I let her hold the rag in place while I reached back to unhook my bra then tossed it into the tub with my shirt.

Then I took the rag from her and returned Jake’s call while my sister dumped bleach into the tub to destroy my blood.

“What the hell happened?” Jake barked into my ear, in lieu of a greeting.

“Cavazos moved on Holt,” I said. “Ambush in the alley behind Sutherland’s. One dead, two wounded, on their side.” No need to mention that Cam was one of them… “We had to leave the body because we’re both bleeding, but two of your men were there.”

“They’re already on it,” Jake said, and some small measure of tension eased inside me. Even on the west side, where Jake’s authority was almost absolute, gunfire could bring the police. “Witnesses say Holt fired two shots.”

“Yeah. I’m unarmed, remember? Perhaps you’d care to revisit that issue now?”

“I’ll take it under consideration. If Holt fired two shots and hit two people, that means he didn’t miss.”

“Yup.” That’s as much as I was willing to commit to.

“Any thoughts on why a pencil pusher from the suburbs knows how to shoot?” His voice was steady, and the silence that followed it was expectant. He knew something. Or he knew I knew something.

I closed my eyes and took a quick, quiet breath. “He’s a man of many talents?”

“Obviously.” But that wasn’t the end of the issue. It couldn’t be. “Where’d he get the gun, Korinne?”

I closed my eyes, bracing for what would follow. “I took it off Olivia Warren in the park this morning.”

Silence.

Dangerous, tense silence, during which my stomach tried to devour the rest of me whole.

“What park?”

“The south side of Durham Park, at the fork in the river.”