Page 35

He stomped the door down and found Mallory crouched behind the kitchen’s island, clutching his side with one arm, trying to reload his service weapon with the other, and staring right back at Hector. A ponytailed gunman was in the hall, and Hector walked straight toward him. A bullet ripped through the mask and pierced his neck. Hector yanked the man’s gun away and smashed him in the face with it. A few teeth flew from his mouth and hit the hardwood floor as he did.

A gunshot made him run back into the kitchen. The last thug was slumped in the other doorway, his head blown open and bleeding all over the tile. Officer Mallory took a ragged breath and looked at Hector, doubtless wanting to ask the obvious question, but he pulled out a cellphone instead and dialed. He tried to stand but slid back down against the counter, bleeding nearly as much as the dead man.

“I’m going to assume--guh--that you didn’t come here to kill me,” said the officer. He put the phone to his ear. “Yeah, I need an ambulance.” Giving his address and eyeing Hector, he added, “And there’s someone else here in even worse shape than me... I think.”

He tried to speak, but the bullet in his larynx made it impossible. Garovel invoked the recovery. None of his wounds hurt, but Hector could feel flesh contracting and expanding, fractured bones shivering as they rejoined, and bullets getting pushed out of his body and clattering to the floor.

“Who are you?” the officer finally asked.

‘What will you tell him?’ said Garovel.