I didn’t waste a split second. Before Arlen and Abalos hit the ground, I was launching myself at Abalos’s partner. I didn’t know his name. It didn’t matter. I had to beat him into submission with my arms behind my back. Failure meant watching my wife, my partner, and a little girl getting murdered before my ticket was punched too.

Surprise was my only weapon. That, and my skull. He was too busy watching Arlen go for Abalos to notice me coming at him like a missile. I jumped like I meant to fly through the front window, leading with the top of my head, aiming it directly at his chin.

I connected. Jawbone drove into the crown of my skull as his teeth crunched together. My vision fuzzed, and I heard glass shattering and I realized I must’ve put his head through the front window. When I saw the dark, dirty floor again, a pistol was lying at my feet like a prize.

Only problem was, I couldn’t simply bend over and pick it up.

Abalos had Arlen in a headlock near his hip, taking complete control of Arlen’s body with one arm free.

With Arlen handled, his attention turned to me. Abalos pointed the pistol at my head. In the beam from the helicopter’s spotlight, I saw sweat trickle down between eyes mad with desperation. He was going to kill me without a word.

Then DJ’s prosthetic leg twirled through the air at Abalos. There was a sound like a metal baseball bat cracking a dinger to the upper decks. Abalos staggered and let go of Arlen.

“Get down!” I jumped, kicking my legs out in front of me, landing flat on my butt.

When I hit the ground, I think my palms slapped the grip of the handgun. The zip ties had cut off most of the circulation to my hands, so I wasn’t exactly sure. Did I have the grip, or the slide? I had to work fast. Abalos was shaking his head, clearing out the cobwebs.

I thought I felt a steel loop—maybe I had a finger under the trigger guard. I went with it, awkwardly trying to get the muzzle pointed in the right direction.

Abalos raised his weapon at DJ.

Whether my aim would hit Abalos or Arlen, lying on the ground in front of him, or the floor beneath me, or even myself, I didn’t know until I took a shot.

I fired.

The muzzle flash was hot against my back. In the time it took to blink, I battled against the near certainty that I’d muffed the shot. What was I thinking? I might as well have tried to hit the moon, or maybe throwing the handgun at Abalos would’ve worked better.

Then the cloth of Abalos’s jacket rippled out from the point of impact, like the surface of a pond disturbed by the first raindrop of a hurricane. He cried out. He dropped to the floor, holding his hip. Not a great shot, but with the circulation to my fingers cut off, I’d gladly accept a shattered pelvis.

Behind me, the front door busted in.

“Policía! Policía! ” A dozen men barked all at once.

They flooded into the room, pointing guns at Abalos, at me, and DJ. Even at Tamara Price, who remained frozen against the wall, horrified at the chaos she’d unleashed.

“Drop the weapon!” someone bellowed in English.

They’d get no argument from me. I let go of the handgun, then was pushed to the ground, and searched—never happier to have it happen.

“It’s all right!” I said to whoever would listen. “We’re not armed! We’re hostages!”

“Let him up! He’s my informant,” a familiar voice said.

Detective Collat helped me to my feet. Another officer cut the zip tie off my wrists; as the blood rushed in, my hands felt like beehives at the ends of my arms. Nice to know they hadn’t lost all sensation.

“How in the hell did you find us?” I asked.

“I was in position on the south end of the Hildon building, waiting for you to signal me when I saw these men stuff you and your friends into their cars,” Collat said.

“Imagine that, a cop actually doing his job,” DJ quipped as he pulled his leg back on. He grinned at Detective Collat.

“It’s been known to happen from time to time,” Collat replied.

“I guess y’all aren’t all bad,” DJ admitted.

Collat smiled at him—the first time I’d seen him do anything but grimace.