I felt bad about knocking Margaret out, but as I tried to make my way quietly down the row of rooms in the motel, I put my regret aside. While she had guts and a lot of reasons to want to put a bullet into Vincent Drake, she also didn't have any training that I knew of. Since I'd known the woman for twenty years, that meant quite a lot.

And Drake was trained, no doubt about it. I had seen the man's work, and while it seemed that he favored knives and other sorts of slicing weapons, he used guns too. I didn't need to worry about Margaret's life while trying to save Adriana.

As I approached the room closest to the van parked near the end of the building, I heard music. While I wasn't quite sure, as I got closer, I heard the unmistakable sound of Phil Collins's singing and knew I had the right place. I checked the safety on the Beretta and got ready.

I tried to look in the window of the unit, but it had been boarded up, probably to reduce the noise that leaked from the building. I knew for sure that inside, the sound of the music would be deafening, which I took as a measure in my favor. I quickly went over my mental checklist of how to bust down a door and sweep a room, and I took a deep breath.

Now, normally, if you're going to kick down the door on a room with a known armed occupant, you want two people, one to check each direction, especially if the asshole inside knows that you're coming. I put my ear to the door, trying to hear something but the music was just too loud.

“Shut up!” I heard Vincent scream, clearly on the edge of losing control. “You can't laugh at me! You can't!”

I used the scream to time my kick, driving with as much force as my right leg could muster. Unfortunately for me, my thigh muscle was still more cramp and knotted tissue than actual effective muscle, so a kick that should have shattered the door barely broke the lock, and I had to lower my shoulder to charge the rest of the way through, stumbling as I did.

This meant that when I went through the door, I had my gun down and I was looking to my left. I started to bring my gun up when I heard Adriana gasp, and I started to turn. I heard an explosion, and my neck was suddenly on fire and my right arm turned to lead. Instead of continuing the turn and staying in the line of fire, I rolled with my stumble, hoping to get the hell out of the way.

I got to a knee and pointed my pistol back the other way, but some sort of table was in the way, and I couldn't see Drake at all. Instead, I could see a cascade of red hair draped over the side of the obstruction, and at least I knew where Adriana was.

A sound to my left caught my attention as a door slammed, and I staggered to my feet. Adriana was strapped to the table, and I didn't see anyone else. “Where is he?”

“He went toward that door,” Adriana said, her voice quavering. “Daniel . . .”

“I'll live,” I said, even as I felt the blood start to soak my shirt and drip down my chest. I saw that Adriana was held to the table by some cargo straps, and I didn't have the time to try and work the catch, which was most likely on the underside of the table. Instead, I grabbed a knife out of the toolkit that Drake had left on the table and handed it to her. “Here. Can you cut yourself free?”

“Yeah,” she said. “But Dan . . .”

“It ends tonight,” I said, starting out the door Drake had gone through. I had to be careful. He knew this property much better than I did. Still, at least Adriana was now behind me and Drake in front of me. Much better than it had been.

The blood was rushing through my ears as I stepped into the dark hallway, seeing the open door to the outside. I guessed that the door was a late addition, or perhaps the room wasn't a guest room but instead a manager's quarters back when the motel had been in operation. It didn't really matter, as I had my pistol in front of me. My right arm was heavy, the shock of being shot still blasting the nerves, so I used two hands, my left hand steadying my right as I worked my way down the hallway, not rushing but not being overly cautious. I knew that if he was going to try and ambush me again, he'd do it when I came out of the room.

I saw him as soon as I came out, his nude body nearly glowing in the moonlight. “Drake! Vincent Drake!” I yelled, leveling my pistol at him. “Stop where you are!”

I would have squeezed a shot off at him, but he was already just beyond the maximum range I'd trust for making an open shot with a pistol at night, and I was wounded and using an unfamiliar Beretta. I didn't want to give it away.

He turned, his face sweaty and glistening in the pale white light, madness clear even at the distance he was. “Well, hero, you got me,” he said, laughing. “Whatcha gonna do about it?”

He whipped his pistol up, faster than I thought a man his age could move, and I barely dove out of the way as he fired two shots that bounced off the concrete behind where'd I'd been just an instant earlier. I fired into the air, not caring if I actually hit him but just trying to give him a reason to give up his relatively stable position. Hitting the ground hard, I rolled as best I could to my belly, my arms up and looking for a firing angle.

He was already on the move, charging at me with his pistol outstretched, his grin nearly stretching from ear to ear. “Yeah! Hooo-raaa!” he hollered as he ran, squeezing the trigger. His first shot hit the asphalt inches from my head, and I knew I had only one chance. “Die!”

“You first,” I whispered, squeezing my trigger. The Beretta kicked in my hand, harder than I'd expected, and I realized that my arm was really losing sensation, the forty-five feeling like I was firing a shotgun pistol or something. Thankfully, my shot took him high in his chest, right below his collarbone area, and he stopped, dumbfounded.

He coughed, then sank to his knees. The hollow point round had done a number on him. He realized he was dying, and he looked up at me. “Nice shot.”

I squeezed the trigger again. I sagged as his body collapsed, the pain, shock and blood loss finally overcoming me, and darkness crept across my vision. At least Adriana was safe.

* * *

I came to when I felt a pair of hands tugging at my shirt. “Come on, I can't get you up on my own.”

I blinked, trying to figure out where that voice was coming from. It sounded like it was on a long distance line a million miles away, but it was familiar. “Adriana?”

“Yeah, you big, stupid, brave, wonderful lunk,” she said, pulling on my left arm. “Come on, we've gotta get out of here.”

“So tired . . .” I said, not knowing what was going on. “Just wanna sleep . . .”

“Yeah, yeah, you can sleep at home. In fact, you can sleep in my bed if you want, but we've gotta get out of here. Come on!”

I staggered to my feet, still not sure what was going on, but tried to lean on Adriana as she started walking. Unfortunately, I was too heavy, and she was also staggering, bumping into the door frame and hissing in pain. “Dan, I need your help.”

“I've got him,” another voice said, and I had to blink. I had two angels with me, it seemed, two Adrianas, who each took a side of me and helped me through the room and out the door. I was glad for the wonderful silence. The music had been splitting my head, it was so horrible. I was never going to listen to Genesis again, that was for sure.

“Mom, when did you get here?” Adriana asked as the three of us made our way toward Margaret's car. The walking was clearing my head, or perhaps just that Margaret's pulling on my right side was jostling my bullet wound, and the pain was waking me up.

“She drove,” I said, not walking much better but at least able to focus. “I kinda knocked her out before coming in to get you.”

“You hit my mother?” Adriana asked. We reached the car, and Adriana pulled open the back door, sliding me into the seat. “Why?”

“Didn't want to get her killed,” I whispered as Margaret closed the door and went around to the driver's seat. I was glad that the GT had a back seat. I'd have never been able to sit in the front seat with my bullet wound. “Sorry. Guess the whole mother-in-law, son-in-law thing is off to a bad start, huh?”

“You told them?” Adriana asked, and Margaret chuckled.

“Honey, it was what got your uncle to not shoot him in the head,” Margaret laughed. “Now hold on, we're getting out of here. This may not be the best part of Seattle, but still, the cops should be here soon enough. I'd prefer not to answer questions. Pietro will have men here in a minute to torch the place.”

I nodded, suddenly tired again. “Okay.”

“We'll get you to the hospital soon,” Adriana said, and I shook my head. “What?”

“No hospital. Home,” I replied, drifting off. “I can get patched up there. Take . . . take me home.”