The cab screeches to a stop outside Heroes on the Homefront, and I shove myself out of the car so fast I barrel into a guy waiting on the curb. He starts to protest, takes one look at me, and asks Wes if we’re done with the cab.

He waves him off. “—540 West Fiftieth,” he says into his phone. “Potentially armed.” He listens for a moment. “No.” Then he hangs up.

“What the hell was that?”

“The police,” he says simply. “That woman at the front desk hasn’t called yet. Guy probably told her he’d kill everybody in there if she did.”

“How long do we have?”

“Five minutes?”

Wes moves for the front door, turning when he realizes I’m still on the sidewalk. “Day? Get the fuck over here.”

I open my mouth, then shut it again.

Wes rushes back, and I’m filled with shame for the precious seconds he has to waste doing whatever he’s doing.

He looks me straight in the eye. “You belong here, asshole. You didn’t bring this on her.” He stabs a finger in the direction of the building. “That guy in there? Alex? He’s the fucking sicko who decided to do this. You be there for her. Just like you’ve always been there for her, even if everybody said you were wrong.”

“Fuck those people,” I spit, even as the memories rise, even as I feel the Humvee lifting with the explosion, even as I feel the wheel of the drug-running car under my hands at the moment of impact.

Then we move toward the door together, like we’re back in the unit, ready to face anything, together.

* * *

It’s a scene.

Everyone who works in the office is crowded into the waiting room. Carla is sobbing at her desk, tears running silently down her face. I don’t bother asking her anything. I head for Hazel, the one who’s always bringing Summer doughnuts. She looks grim.

“They’re still in there.”

Hazel looks up at me, and I see the fear behind the stoic expression. “I can hear them talking when everybody shuts up.”

Talking. Summer has him talking. That’s my girl.

“Police are right behind us. You know what’s going to happen if we can’t get him out of there, right?”

She nods, once, then the meaning of the words hits her. “Day, you can’t—” Wes is already at the entrance to the hallway. “Who’s that?”

“Summer’s brother.”

Her hands fly to her hair. “Shit. You’re going in there?”

“Right now. Get everybody out of the way.”

I join Wes at the hall entrance and point down to the second door on the right. It’s the only one that’s closed.

Light on our feet, we take up positions on either side of the door. My breathing slows as my focus sharpens. I can hear Alexei’s voice.

“—not to have any choice. And you don’t have any choice, either.”

“I’d say my options at this point are fairly limited,” Summer answers. Her voice is steady, solemn. “All I can do is sit here. Look at me.” There’s a creak—she must be moving in her chair. “You, on the other hand—you still have choices.”

“I don’t.”

“You do,” she insists. “Let’s start with the first one. You don’t have to commit a crime here today.”

“We’re past that.”

“We’re having a meeting,” she says lightly. “You think I haven’t had meetings with a hundred men grieving for people they’ll never get back?”

My heart twists in my chest. I never thought I’d get Summer back again. Never.

Wes moves in front of the door, his feet making no sound in the carpeted hallway. He locks eyes with me, pointing to both sets of hinges on the door. Then he points to his chest and mine. Me or you first?

I take a heartbeat to think about it. He’s better trained. He’s still in. He has to be the first one in that door, because he has the best chance at taking Alexei down.

Before I can answer, he points at his own chest again. Me.

"Why are you crying?” Alexei’s question ends the planning phase. We’re out of time.

We line ourselves up in front of the door, and in that moment, I’m back in Afghanistan, raiding a stronghold in the middle of the night, Wes at my side. Time slows. The hinges don’t look very strong—they’re brass, decorative. The carpet is tacky under my feet, new enough to have some grip to it.

Wes counts down on his fingers. Three, two, one—

The echo of his voice in the desert rings in my ears—go, go, go—and the door bursts open under the weight of our fury.

* * *

Alexei startles and turns toward the door. He never gets the chance to face it completely. Wes rushes him, hooks an arm around his neck, and forces him down to his knees. “Where’s the gun?” He shouts, forceful and demanding. “Where’s the gun?” Wes isn’t waiting for an answer. His arm tightens around Alexei’s neck and his other hand searches him.

Alexei babbles something.

“Is there anything else, you fucker?”

Summer rises from her chair, tears and relief mixing on her face. Wes has Alexei under control—Alexei is sagging, his hands useless against Wes’s arm.

“Day—” Summer puts her arms out and I kick away the chair behind her. I touch her face, her chin.

“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

“No.” My hand still at her face, she turns her head sharply. “Wes. Wes.”

He’s still moving around Alexei. He doesn’t release his grip on him when he reaches to set something on the surface of Summer’s desk, pointed away from all of us. A gun.

“You’re going to kill him. He can’t breathe.” Summer’s voice is steady, but she leans forward and braces herself with one palm on the edge of her desk. “Wes.”

He releases his grip on Alexei’s neck and hauls him upright, pinning both arms behind his back. “What do you want me to do with him?” Wes addresses the question to the room as if there’s a committee waiting to decide. Alexei hangs his head.

“Alex.” I put one hand on Summer’s back. Alexei looks up at me. He’s a ruined man. “I’m sorry about Kate. I should never have agreed to drive you anywhere that night.”

His expression is pure anguish. “She was pregnant.”

It’s not an explanation. In this moment, there’s no need for an explanation. It was only a trick of fate that took Kate from him and gave Summer back to me. My rage bleeds out of me.

“The police are about to get here. Wes—”

“You’re fucking kidding me.” His eyes are hard with skepticism. “They can have him.”

“They can’t,” Summer says. “He didn’t shoot anyone. I never saw the gun. He needs help, Wes. Get him help.”

Everybody in the room looks at her. I stroke her hair. “Sunny—”

“He needs help,” she repeats. “So if you’re not going to let him get that, then—”

“Just kill me now.” Alexei says the words through gritted teeth. “Just fucking kill me now.”

Summer shakes her head. “See? This isn’t—” She blows a stiff breath out through rounded lips and bows her head, knuckles going white on the edge of the desk.

“Sunny?” My heart punches like a fist against my ribcage. “Are you sure he didn’t hurt you? Here, sit down, sit—”

On the next breath, she straightens up. “I’m fine,” she says, putting both hands to the small of her back. “Except—the baby’s coming. Right now.”