She looked at Gabe like he was the most fascinating man she'd ever met. The performance was so good it almost made him forget she was lying.
The bigger man on Gabe's left relaxed slightly.
The boss wasn't convinced yet. His eyes moved between Cara and Gabe, calculating. Weighing the story against the threat.
Cara leaned closer to Gabe, near enough that he could smell her shampoo beneath the faint scent of bourbon she must have splashed on her clothes. Creating intimacy. Selling the relationship.
"I saw your car outside," she said, touching his chest. "The rental. Figured you'd be here."
Then her expression shifted. Hand to mouth. Eyes widening with realization and horror. "Oh no." She lurched slightly, grabbed the back of a nearby chair. "I think I'm gonna?—"
The woman behind the bar moved immediately. "Take it outside if you're gonna puke, honey. Not in my bar."
Cara played it perfectly. Embarrassed. Apologetic. Trying desperately to hold it together while alcohol and bad decisions caught up with her. "I'm so sorry. Where's the bathroom? I just need?—"
She was giving them an out. Gabe saw it with the clarity of someone who'd run similar operations. Take the drunk girlfriend story. Let them both leave. Walk away and everyone survives the night.
The performance was brilliant. Every detail crafted to make her seem harmless. Every movement designed to give the boss a reason to believe the cover story instead of the threat.
Whoever had trained her had trained her well.
“There were two of them at the warehouse,” the boss said, staring at them with his cold, dead eyes.
The hulk on Gabe’s right snorted. “Sure. Yeah. But not a chick. Not this one. No way.”
“For sure not,” the second muscle agreed. “That was two dudes.”
The boss fingered a thick set of keys on his belt. “Maybe.” His gaze swept the bar. The patrons looked away, ducking their heads as if trying to make themselves invisible.
The boss's face hardened. Decision made, and not the one Cara had obviously hoped for. "Bring her too," he said. "Back room. Both of them."
The bigger man's hand moved toward Cara.
Gabe raced through options. Take the guy on his right first—hard elbow to the solar plexus, follow with the Glock before he could recover. Might drop him. Probably wouldn't. The one on his left would be moving simultaneously.
Or he could go low.Kick out the right guy's knee, use the chaos to put Cara behind him and create enough space for her to run. He'd take the beating if it helped her make it to the door.
If he moved fast enough,committed completely, he might buy her ten seconds. Maybe fifteen.
It probably wouldn't work.Almost certainly wouldn't work.
But it might giveCara a chance to survive the night.
Then the world exploded.
BOOM.
The sound hit like a physical force. Every window rattled. Someone screamed.
"FIRE!"
Orange light flooded through the front windows. Flames outside in the parking lot casting wild shadows across the tavern's interior.
Chaos erupted immediately. Patrons rushed toward windows and doors. The bartender grabbed a phone. Someone was shouting about calling 911.
The boss and his muscle turned toward the commotion, forgetting them.
Cara's hand found Gabe's. Her grip was iron-strong and completely sober.
