The mistake happened around three in the afternoon. Reeves called with an urgent update on the trial. The prosecution had new evidence, something that could blow the case wide open, and they needed Betty to review some documents before her testimony.
I stepped into the back office to take the call, just for five minutes. Betty was at the bar, visible through the office doorway. Santos was outside. Everything was fine.
Except I didn't see the delivery truck pull up to the back entrance.
I didn't see the two men in delivery uniforms slip through the back door that Jesse had propped open to take out the trash.
I didn't see anything until I heard Betty scream.
The sound ripped through me like a bullet.
I was out of that office in a heartbeat, my gun already in my hand, every sense on high alert. The bar was chaos. Customers were screaming, ducking under tables, scrambling for the exits. Jesse was pressed against the wall, her face white with terror.
And Betty was being dragged toward the back door by two men in black masks, one of them holding a gun to her head.
"Let her go!" I raised my weapon, trying to get a clear shot, but they were using her as a shield. One wrong move and they'd put a bullet in her brain.
"Drop the gun!" the one holding her shouted. "Drop it or I'll kill her right here!"
Betty's eyes found mine, wide with terror but also with something else. Trust. She trusted me to get her out of this.
I couldn't let her down.
"Okay." I lowered my gun slowly, keeping my movements deliberate. "Okay, I'm putting it down. Just don't hurt her."
"Kick it away!"
I kicked the gun across the floor, but I didn't take my eyes off them. The guy holding Betty was nervous, sweating. His hands were shaking slightly, which meant he was either inexperienced or terrified.
Either way, nervous men with guns made mistakes.
I just had to wait for his.
"Lang and Briggs sent you," I said, keeping my voice calm, conversational. "They must be getting desperate if they're hiring amateurs."
"Shut up!" The guy's grip on Betty tightened. "Just shut up and let us walk out of here!"
"You're not walking out of here. Not with her." I took a slow step forward. "You know there's a guy outside, right? Former Special Forces. The moment you step through that door, he's going to put a bullet between your eyes."
The second guy, the one without a hostage, glanced nervously toward the back door.
That was his mistake.
I moved.
I'd been trained to close distance fast, to neutralize threats before they could react. The second guy went down before he even knew I was coming, my elbow connecting with his temple in a strike that dropped him like a stone.
The first guy panicked. His gun swung toward me, away from Betty's head, and that was all the opening I needed.
Betty moved at the same time, driving her elbow back into his ribs with surprising force. He grunted, his grip loosening just enough for her to twist away, and then I was on him.
The fight was brutal and brief. He tried to bring the gun around, but I caught his wrist and twisted, feeling bone grindagainst bone. The gun clattered to the floor. I drove my fist into his face once, twice, three times, until he stopped struggling.
Then I kicked his gun away and turned to Betty.
She was standing a few feet away, shaking, her hand pressed to her throat where the gun had been. But she was alive. Unharmed.
I crossed to her in two strides and pulled her into my arms.
