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looked at Cole. “Not bad.”
    “Let’s get out of here.” He grabbed her wrist and dragged her toward the street.
    “Wait.” Darkness shimmered like a heat wave through her. “There’s another one.”
    “You said two,” he replied without halting.
    She tried focusing on the alley. Where was the tranquilizer gun? There had been an eighth man. “I-I was wrong,” she slurred “There’s another one, the shhhooter.”
    They’d nearly reached the street and no shooter had materialized. Maybe the dart had come from a single-shot model which lay in the alley near one of the attackers. Lamplight spilled into the alley entrance, and Jesse breathed in relief a second before someone seized her shoulder and yanked her out of Cole’s grasp. She spun and struck a wall as her attacker caught Cole in a chokehold and pressed a Steyr nine millimeter special purpose pistol against his temple.
    “You should have come quietly, Jesse,” the shooter said. “If not for our friend here,” he jerked Cole back, “we would’ve had you.”
    Jesse looked past Cole’s broad shoulder at the shooter, who stood five nine, with a little flab on his arms and the beginnings of a spare tire around his waist. The guy talked tough, but his fear cut through the air. In any case, if she made a move, Cole would die.
    “You can’t kill him and shoot me before I get to you,” she told the guy.
    His gaze flicked to the gash in her arm, then back at her face. “The drug’s already working. In twenty seconds, you won’t be a factor.”
    “You’ll kill him anyway.” Jesse saw Cole’s fists clench, but kept her focus on the shooter, hoping the cowboy had sense enough to keep cool. “Leave no witnesses.” It was a shot in the dark, but maybe she’d strike a nerve.
    The man’s mouth twisted in an arrogant smile, and Jesse flicked a disgusted look at his Steyr nine millimeter. The fool thought he could play with the big boys. He didn’t understand that Lanton’s leave no witnesses rule would eventually come to roost on his doorstep and he’d never see it coming.
    “What do you want?” she asked.
    “I have a car parked on the street. You’re going to walk over there, then your friend here will tie you up in the back seat.”
    Jesse snorted, as much to clear her mind of the drug as in derision. “And you’ll just let him go.”
    “You don’t have a choice.”
    “All right. Let’s go.”
    “Don’t do—” Cole began.
    “Shut up!” she snapped. “I’m tired of running.”
    The shooter kept fifteen feet between them until Jesse reached a Pontiac Starfire parked under a burned-out streetlight.
    “Stop,” he said. “Get in.”
    Jesse faced him. “Time to renegotiate. Once I’m tied up, there’s nothing to stop you from killing him. I might as well run now.”
    “Try and I’ll shoot you first.” He swung the pistol toward her.
    She ducked, lunging forward as the gun fired. Searing pain passed through her shoulder. Before he could squeeze off another round, she tackled him, with Cole sandwiched between them. She seized the hand gripping the gun and wrenched the wrist back in a grip that would have crippled a boxer. A snap of bone sounded, and the pistol fell from his grasp. Cole elbowed him in the ribs and twisted from his hold as Jesse leaped to her feet and kicked the man below the ribcage. The shooter grunted. Cole sprang up, wheezing. Jesse’s vision blurred and she reared backward.
    “You all right?” he demanded.
    Her attention snapped onto the tiny movement of the shooter’s left hand at his side. Cole must have seen it as well. He stepped toward the shooter, but she jumped between them, knocking Cole back. The shooter flipped open a French switchblade and sliced through her jeans in one movement, opening a long wound down her leg. She reeled.
    A strong hand closed around her shoulder and yanked her back. She whirled, brought a fist up, but tumbled onto the sidewalk. In a blur, she saw Cole kick the knife from