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I was suddenly running between the two of them, Lachlan covering the area ahead while Rafael protected our backs. Neither man had discussed it. They had simply arranged themselves around me as though keeping me out of the line of fire had become another part of the escape plan.

The truck was twenty yards away.

Then ten.

I could see the maintenance door behind it now.

Lachlan reached the back of the truck first and grabbed the top of my backpack, hauling me behind the rear corner.

I stumbled against him.

“Stay down.”

“I know.”

“I know you know. Do it anyway.”

Rafael came in behind us.

I couldn’t believe we’d made it.

The long cargo box gave us cover from most of the courtyard, but the service door was still several yards ahead beside the cab.

Rafael started along the side of the truck toward it, already pulling out a leather strap with a key.

“Rafael!” a man shouted.

He turned.

The man stood on the upper walkway with a rifle braced against his shoulder.

His attention wasn’t on Lachlan or me.

He was aiming directly at Rafael.

“Ciro’s dead, old man. You picked the wrong side. Die with him.”

The rifle fired.

Rafael’s body lurched beside me.

“No!”

Blood spread almost instantly across his shirt beneath his ribs.

Lachlan’s pistol snapped up and fired.

The man above jerked backward into the railing and disappeared from sight.

Rafael staggered, and I grabbed for him.

“Rafael!”

His hand closed around my arm with surprising strength.

“Stay behind the truck.”

“But, but you’ve been shot.”