I fired four more shots, taking my time with these, and then got to my feet and stepped through the hole of jagged glass where the balcony door had been. The men in the hallway were regrouping, but they would undoubtedly open fire again soon. There was no time to hesitate; it was get out now or die later. I pushed the gun back into my waistband, next to the videotape, and put both hands on the railing. It was only seven stories up, but seven stories looks like a lot when you’re about to swing your body over the edge of a railing. If I had any doubts, though, they ended when gunfire opened up again, punching into the walls behind me. I swung over the edge.

I slid my hands down the rails until I was hanging by the bottom bar. My body was suspended seven stories above the concrete surrounding the pool. Shots were being fired into the room again, and a few of the bullets banged off the railing above me, dangerously close. I kicked my feet backward, pulling my body away from the balcony, and then swung my body in an arc, releasing my hold on the rail as the momentum brought me back toward the building. I made it just over the railing of the balcony below me, landing awkwardly, my feet tangled with one of the plastic chairs.

In my landing the videotape had fallen free, but it was within reach, and thankfully the gun hadn’t discharged into my ass. I gathered the tape up and looked inside the hotel room. It was dark. The glass door to this balcony was open, but the screen was closed. No one was home, but they’d still wanted the fresh air circulating while they were out. I appreciated the choice. I put my foot through the screen and then used my hand to tear it loose. Above me, I heard a door slam against the wall, then more shots. They’d entered the room. That meant in a few short seconds they would know I’d jumped off the balcony. When they didn’t see my corpse on the pavement, it wouldn’t be hard to guess what I’d done. I pulled the room door open and ran into the hallway.

I considered the stairs, but the elevator was right in front of me with the doors standing open, so I jumped inside. If they had men in the lobby, they’d be waiting for me whether I took the stairs or the elevator. I stood to the side of the elevator car, in a shooter’s stance, and waited while the doors opened slowly. The lobby was empty. Behind the desk, the door to the manager’s office was still closed. Rebecca was safe for now. I ran out of the building. As I went through the front doors, I heard another door bang open as someone stepped out of the stairwell. They would expect me to run toward the street. I ducked to the right and ran around the side of the building, toward the beach and away from the street. And right into two armed men.

One was Rakic, and the other was a fat, pasty-skinned blond man I’d never seen before. They had their backs to me, and they were looking intently at the balconies. When I came sprinting up, they heard me and turned.

Rakic shouted something unintelligible, and the pale fat man spun toward me, lifting a sawed-off shotgun. I shot him twice in the face, and he fell hard. A red mist sprayed onto Rakic. He dropped his own gun and fell to his knees, screaming and lifting his hands to his face, apparently convinced I’d shot him because of all the blood. I turned and ran back toward the street as someone fired at me from the balcony, the bullets kicking up bits of grass and dirt behind my feet.

I sprinted down the sidewalk, running faster than I’d moved since high school track, well aware there were three men still in pursuit and that I had only one round left in my gun.

I ran out into the street, and several cars honked at me and swerved to avoid a collision. I found the parking lot where I’d left Julie and Betsy. I’d told her to leave after ten minutes. How long had it been? They’d better still be there.

They were. I glanced over my shoulder and saw nothing but an empty sidewalk. I tucked the gun back under my shirt and wiped the sweat from my face, then knocked on the driver’s door. Julie leaned over and unlocked it, and I slid behind the wheel.

“What happened?” she asked. I was covered in sweat and gasping for breath, and a few drops of the fat man’s blood dotted my T-shirt. Betsy was sitting up in the backseat now, staring at me with eyes like dinner plates.

“Nothing happened,” I said. “But we’re leaving now. Betsy, honey, would you do me a huge favor and lie down in the backseat? We’re going to be driving for a while, and I want you to take a nap. I’ll get you an extra ice cream tomorrow if you lie down.”

She went down obediently, but her eyes remained open, and she clutched the stuffed cat to her chest a little tighter. Scared. She was a little girl, not an idiot, and she knew something was wrong.

The parking lot had exits onto Business 17 and Ocean Avenue. I turned onto 17 and drove south, watching my rearview mirror carefully. A squad car passed us, lights flashing and siren wailing, and hung a left, heading toward the Golden Breakers. They’d be looking for me soon enough. Rebecca would tell them my name, and they’d put out an all-points bulletin. They would even have the license plate number on the rental car, since I’d been required to put it on the hotel registration form. I didn’t fear the police at all compared to the Russians, but I also didn’t want to be stopped. I wanted to get back to Cleveland, and Joe. Together, we’d work this out. Or die trying.

CHAPTER 20

I DROVE south for an hour, even though it was the opposite direction from where I wanted to be heading. The less reasonable the route, the harder it would be to follow, I figured. I probably had an hour or so before the APB on my license plate went out, and then every state trooper in South Carolina would be looking for me. And for good reason-I’d just killed a man. I thought about it in a detached way now, as if I hadn’t actually pulled the trigger but watched someone else do it.

I’d pulled my gun several times in my police days, but I’d never fired to kill. I imagined tonight’s incident would have more impact when the adrenaline died down, and I wasn’t looking forward to that. It had been the definition of a self-defense killing, but it had been a killing nonetheless, and I’d never wanted to experience that, regardless of the circumstances or the victim. Julie had asked me if I could kill for her daughter, and I’d told her yes. I’d believed it when I said it, and she’d seemed to believe it, but I hadn’t expected the statement to be put to the test.

I drove to Charleston and took the interstate north out of the city. Cleveland was probably a fourteen-hour drive from Charleston, which meant I had a long night-and morning-ahead of me. It was slightly after eleven when we left Charleston, but I couldn’t even imagine sleeping. The adrenaline coursing through my veins was more intense than anything I’d felt before, and I thought I could probably abandon the car and run to Cleveland with Betsy on my back if necessary.

Julie and I did not speak. Betsy stayed awake until we hit Charleston. There the fatigue caught up with her and overpowered the fear, allowing her to sleep. Twenty minutes out of Charleston, Julie turned around and stroked her daughter’s arm, making sure she was sound asleep. Satisfied, she pulled back into her seat and looked at me.

“Will you tell me what happened now?”

I kept my eyes on the highway. “I got the tape. The Russians were at the hotel, though. Your hotel room turned into the O.K. Corral for a few minutes, and I jumped off the balcony onto the one below it, then ran out of the hotel and right into two of them. One of the guys swung a shotgun at me, and I killed him.” My voice was the same odd monotone it had been during my conversation with Joe. Detached. No emotion. Just routine talk from a cold, calculating, reflex killer.