“I think we’ll drive for a while,” I said. Julie nodded but didn’t say anything.

“Where are we going?” Betsy asked.

“It’s a surprise,” I said, “but I promise you’ll like it. Why don’t you try to take a nap now?”

We pulled up to a red light. I glanced at the other cars around us, but their drivers weren’t interested in us, just strangers in the night, like the old Sinatra song. The red light turned green, and I moved my foot to the accelerator but then paused, suddenly feeling as if I were forgetting something. It was a feeling I frequently had after leaving a hotel, and now wasn’t the time to bother with it, but I couldn’t ignore the sensation. I pressed on the accelerator when someone behind me honked, and we pulled away from the light slowly, but I still didn’t feel right.

“What?” Julie said, sensing my unease.

“Nothing.” I shook my head. There was nothing important to be forgotten, was there? I hadn’t checked out, so I’d lose the deposit on my keycard, but that was hardly a concern. Julie had never officially checked in. I had my gun, and I had Julie and Betsy. That was all that mattered.

The tape.

“Aww, shit!” I slapped the steering wheel with my hand. I saw Betsy’s eyes go wide in the rearview mirror, and Julie clutched my arm.

“What is it?”

“The tape,” I whispered, trying to keep Betsy from hearing. “I left it in the room.”

“Where was it?”

“I slid it under the couch when you and Betsy walked into the room this morning. We left in such a hurry I forgot about it.” I felt stupid. It’s always embarrassing to make a mental error such as forgetting something important, but this was worse. Returning to the hotel could be dangerous. Then again, this was the mother of all forgotten items.

“We’ve got to go back,” I said. “That tape is too important.”

I turned around at the next parking lot and started back. We’d gone maybe twenty blocks from the hotel, but it seemed a much greater distance on the way back. I pulled into the parking lot of a hotel across the street and about a block down from the Golden Breakers. I left the keys in the ignition.

“I’m going to get it. Stay in the car, and stay out of sight. If I’m not back in ten minutes, then get the hell out of here. Drive to some crowded public place and call the police. They might not understand the details of your situation, but they can keep you safe.” Probably they’ll do a better job of it than I am, I thought. I climbed out of the car and started for the Golden Breakers at a jog.

Three cars were parked in the visitor spaces in the front circle; I didn’t remember if they’d been there before. I pushed through the heavy glass doors and started for the elevator. Halfway there I stopped short.

The reception desk was empty. Rebecca was nowhere to be seen. How long had we been gone? Ten minutes, tops. She could have gone to the bathroom, or maybe out to smoke a cigarette. My gut told me she hadn’t, though. I walked behind the desk.

She was lying on the floor, a bloody bruise swelling over the right side of her face. I dropped to my knees beside her and reached out to turn her over. When I touched her, her eyes opened and she jerked away from me as if I were the physical form of whatever evil had been dancing through her unconscious mind.

“It’s okay,” I said. Her eyes were foggy. They reminded me of the eyes of addicts and winos I’d seen in my days on the force, eyes that saw a world separate from reality. She started to drop her head back to the ground, but I caught it and forced her to look at me. “Where are they?”

She blinked hard, trying to come back to full consciousness. Blood was dripping from the cut on her cheekbone to my hand. I looked at it, felt its warmth on my skin, and was stirred by a seething, burning anger. She had nothing to do with this, but they’d hurt her anyhow. I removed my gun and slipped the safety off. Julie had asked if I could kill to protect her daughter. The Russians damn well better believe I could.

“Where are they?” I asked again, stroking Rebecca’s cheek with my thumb, trying to keep her conscious.

“Sent ’em… your room,” she stuttered, her eyes fluttering and rolling like pinballs. She was about to pass out again. I gave her a gentle shake, and her eyes rolled back into focus momentarily. “I sent them to your room. They took my master keycard.” Each word was an effort. “I wasn’t going to give it to them, but… they hit me,” she said, and her tone changed, as if she wasn’t telling this to me but was telling it to herself and was surprised by the news. They hit me. A group of strangers walked into this hotel and hit me.

I eased her back to the ground and looked around. She needed medical attention, but I needed that tape. The Russians were on the second floor now, though, and when they realized it was empty they’d be coming back down with more questions. And they’d be angry. I couldn’t leave Rebecca here.

I set the gun aside and lifted her, holding her easily in both arms, and walked into the manager’s office behind the reception desk. There was little more than a desk and two file cabinets inside. The door would lock, though. I set her on the ground, picked up the phone on the desk, and dialed 911. I dropped the receiver back to the desk, knowing they’d have to send an officer out to check on the call if no one spoke. I didn’t have time to give them a rundown, either. I pushed the lock button on the inside of the door and pulled it shut behind me, then tried the knob. It was locked. The door wouldn’t hold if the Russians tried to force it, but at least she was out of sight and help would be on the way. I ignored the elevator and went for the stairs.

I ran up the stairs with the type of desperate panic that would carry people down them if a fire broke out in the building. By the time I reached the seventh floor, my heart was pounding and my pores had opened up, releasing a fresh, cold sweat. I pushed the door open and pivoted into the hall, gun drawn. I was staring at a group of four middle-aged women. They saw the gun and started to scream hysterically. I froze for a moment, then ignored them and ran for Julie’s room, fumbling in my pocket for the keycard. The women kept screaming as I opened the door and slammed it behind me.

The room was empty. I left the light off and crossed to the couch, then dropped to my knees and felt under the couch with my hands. Nothing was there. I slid my hand farther under the couch and drew it slowly from one end to the other. Nothing. My throat tightened. Where the hell could it be? I dropped the gun to the floor and hooked my fingers under the edge of the couch, dragged it away from the wall, then lifted it and tipped it over on its side. There was the tape, pushed to the far corner beyond my reach. I picked it up and slipped it under my shirt and into the waistband of my jeans.

Outside, the screaming reached a higher pitch. I turned to the door and switched the gun to my right hand, dropping into a crouch. The red light of the electronic lock glowed back at me, telling me the door was still locked.

When Randy Hartwick died in front of me, I’d watched a red dot appear and disappear on his chest. Now, as I watched this one, it disappeared as well, then turned green. Someone had slipped a keycard into the lock.

I went down on one knee and sighted the gun on the door as it swung open. The first thing I saw was not a person but the barrel of another gun, and then the room erupted into a clatter of automatic gunfire. I squeezed off two return shots, then threw myself on the floor, rolling behind the upturned couch as bullets splattered into the walls around me, showers of glass raining down when the balcony door shattered.

I slid my head past the edge of the couch and looked at the door, surprised to find it was closed again. The shots were being fired from the hallway, through the door and the walls. Maybe one of my bullets had found its mark on the man who’d pushed the door open. I put two more rounds through the door, and then the shots from the hall ceased.