Page 125 of Killaney Fire

I crouch beside her, the knife still in my hand, her blood dripping onto the floor between us.

"Where is she?"

She spits at me and it lands on my cheek.

I wipe it off slowly, then press the blade against her throat.

"Try again."

Before she can answer, footsteps thunder down the hall from the other end.

Two men round the corner, dressed in black suits, the same ones their security from the gallery were wearing.

I stand as the one on the left pulls a gun. I don't have much time, so I throw the knife at him.

It spins end over end, cutting through the space between us, and buries itself in his throat.

His hand jerks, the gun fires wildly, and the bullet sparks off the ceiling right above me. He stumbles forward, choking, blood bubbling from his mouth.

The second man doesn't slow and pulls his gun, but so do I, and thankfully, I'm faster.

I fire once; the shot echoes like thunder in the narrow hallway.

The man's head snaps back as my bullet pierces his forehead, brain matter and blood spraying across the wall behind him. His body folds in on itself before he hits the ground.

I then hear more footsteps and shouting; at least four, maybe five more coming from the direction I just came.

I don't have time for this.

I spring past the two dead men, leaving Elizabeth cursing and yelling at me on the ground.

Turning the corner, I find the first door and run in, my boots skidding across the marble as I shut the door and run to another door in the room and go through that.

It turns out to be a storage closet. I keep the door cracked and look through, gripping my gun tightly.

One of the men pushes open the door and looks around.

"This way," someone says, and he turns and starts running.

I take a few deep breaths and pull my phone from my pocket and open the tracking app, the glow lighting up my face.

The dot is still there, still green, but the map doesn't help. It just shows me as right above her.

Shit.

I stare at the screen, willing it to give me something useful.

Then the dot moves.

Not much. Just a few feet to the left.

But it's moving.

I make sure the coast is clear and I start following it, my eyes going between checking my surroundings and the screen, my feet constantly moving on instinct.

The hallway twists and turns but I just try to stay above her while moving lower and lower in the hotel.

I end up in a service area, away from the polished marble and chandeliers. It's just bare concrete walls, exposed pipes, and that smell of mildew.