“Where is it?” She aimed at Kira’s chest. “The memory card for Oliver Kovak’s camera. Where?”
Kira’s throat went dry. Her mouth wouldn’t work. Her phone started chiming again from the bedroom.
“Where? You have three seconds!”
“I—It’s . . . in my suitcase.”
She grabbed Kira’s arm and shoved her toward the bedroom. “Get it.”
Kira stumbled into the bedroom. She darted a glance at the door to the hall, but it was too far away, and even if she made a dash for it, the security latch was still engaged.
“I want the camera and the memory card.” The woman shoved her from behind. “And you’re going to show me what’s on it, so I know it’s real.”
Kira approached the bed with the suitcase on it. “It’s still in the camera.” She glanced over her shoulder and came face-to-face with the gun. Her stomach knotted as she turned and opened the suitcase. “It’s right here.” She reached for the camera but grabbed the tripod instead. Ducking and spinning, she swung the tripod like a bat, hitting the woman’s arm. She yelped with surprise.
Kira bolted into the living room. A hand clamped around her arm, and Kira whirled back, smashing the tripod down on the woman’s hand.
She shrieked in pain, and the gun cartwheeled across the carpet.
Kira lunged for it.
Pain zinged up her arm as the woman jerked her back, yanking her off balance. Kira caught herself on a table as the woman scrambled for the pistol. Kira jabbed an elbow into her ribs, then kicked the gun, sending it sailing underneath the sofa.
The woman shouted something in a foreign language. Pain blazed across Kira’s face as she landed a blow. Kira staggered back, dazed, then rushed forward, shoving the woman aside as she made a dash for the door, but the woman caught her arm and threw her against the wall as she managed to flip the security latch.
She whirled to face Kira, and her expression was feral. Kira glanced at the door behind her, frantic for an escape. The only other way out was the bedroom, but she had to reach the door with enough time to flip the latch and get out. Which meant she had to disable someone who outweighed her by probably thirty pounds.
Kira ducked her head and plowed into her, sending her reeling backward against the food cart, and everything crashed to the floor.
Gripping his pistol, Jeremy took the last flight of stairs three at a time and reached the top. Kira’s voice emanated from the phone in his left hand. I’m sorry I missed your call . . .
Cursing, Jeremy plowed through the door into the hallway and sprinted down the corridor. Turning the corner, he stuffed the phone into his pocket and pulled out the key card to Kira’s room.
Kira raced for the bedroom. Her attacker hauled herself to her feet by the food cart and chased after her, grabbing Kira by the ponytail. Fire blazed up her scalp as the woman dragged her backward by her hair.
She slammed Kira to the floor and flipped her onto her back, then landed on Kira’s chest with her knees, knocking the wind out of her. The woman’s face was flushed and furious as her big hands closed around Kira’s throat. Panicked, Kira bucked and twisted, but the woman didn’t budge. Kira gripped the woman’s wrists, but they wouldn’t move. Kira’s throat burned. The edges of her vision started to blur.
“Kira!”
Jeremy.
The door opened but caught on the security latch.
“Police! Open this door!”
Jeremy peered through the gap.
“Who’s in there?” Diaz asked behind him.
“Call backup!”
Jeremy raced down the hall and found a glass cabinet containing an ax and a fire extinguisher. He broke the glass and grabbed the ax, then sprinted back to the room, where Diaz was taking aim at the security latch with his Glock.
“Move! And cover me!” Jeremy raced up to the door and swung the ax. The latch burst apart, and Jeremy kicked open the door and reached for his pistol.
A toppled food cart was on its side, plates and glasses spilled everywhere. Where the hell were they? Diaz darted into the bedroom.
A wheezing noise came from behind the armchair. Jeremy rushed over to find Kira on the floor, coughing and sputtering.
He dropped to his knees as she rolled onto her side, struggling to catch her breath.
“Where are they?” he asked.
Kira looked up at him, her eyes red and watery. “She’s . . . balcony,” she croaked.
Jeremy whirled around. The balcony door was closed. He yanked it open and readied his pistol.
Glass shattered on the neighboring balcony as Jeremy stepped outside. He leaned over to look, just in time to see a blur of movement. A metal chair sat inside the hotel room on a pile of glass.
Jeremy raced back inside.
“The bedroom and bathroom are clear,” Diaz said.
“She’s next door.”
Kira was on the sofa now, bending over and catching her breath. She looked at Jeremy and seemed to read his conflict.
“I’m fine. Go.”
“Take my SIG.”
“No.”
“Take it, Kira.” He put it into her hand and folded her fingers around the grip.
Grabbing the ax from the floor, he raced into the hallway after Diaz. The detective stood before the neighboring door, aiming his gun at the open door.
“Police! On the ground!”
Sasha Duric looked unarmed. The woman was flushed and panting, and the sleeve of her black jacket was torn at the shoulder. She started to rush back into the room, but Jeremy lunged forward and grabbed her.
“On the ground!” Diaz commanded.
She shot a furious look at Jeremy. Then she dropped to her knees. Diaz took out his handcuffs as Jeremy gripped her arm.
“On your stomach, hands behind you,” Diaz ordered.
Jeremy stepped back as Diaz slapped the cuffs on. He patted her down, but she didn’t have a weapon. At least, not anymore.
“You got this?” Jeremy asked him.
“Yeah.”
Jeremy rushed back into the suite. His heart lurched when he saw that it was empty. Then he heard water running in the bathroom.
Kira stood at the sink, his SIG on the counter beside her. She tipped her head and examined a ring of red welts around her neck.
Jeremy’s chest clenched. She’d needed him, and he wasn’t there. It was his worst combat nightmare come true. He stared at the marks on her neck, and the floor seemed to sink under his feet.
She met his eyes in the mirror. “Did you—”
“Diaz has her.” He closed the door behind him and locked it, then turned Kira to face him. She’d almost died. Thirty more seconds, and he could have lost her forever.
Kira glanced down at the ax in his hand, and he let it drop.
“Come here.” He pulled her into his arms and held on tight.
Charlotte checked the clock on her phone. Where the hell was Diaz? She glanced at the hotel entrance, but didn’t see her partner, only the stocky valet attendant who’d been glaring at her since she pulled in.
He walked over, and Charlotte reluctantly lowered the window.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m going to have to ask you to—”
“HPD.” Charlotte held up her ID. “I’m waiting for someone.”
The man stared at her a moment. He started to say something but then seemed to think better of it and walked away.
Charlotte looked through the windshield and sighed. Up ahead—also illegally parked—was a dark green pickup truck. There was a black Escalade sitting out here, too, and Charlotte could see why the valet guy had his shorts in a twist. Deciding to do her good deed for the day, she put her Taurus in gear and pulled in behind the pickup, freeing up space in the driveway.