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I STARED AT the barrel of Celeste Cantor’s gun for a split second. Then I ducked behind the pillar as she fired, twice. One of the bullets struck the pillar. Pieces of plaster and a shattered effigy of Cupid floated to the floor. Some plaster blew into my face.

Even blinking hard to flush out some of the dust from my eyes, I could tell the restaurant was in chaos. People were rushing into the kitchen to get out the back door. The guitar player from the band started to come onto the stage to grab her Gibson. The drummer seized her by the hips and yanked her into the kitchen.

I heard another gunshot, but it didn’t seem aimed at me. I peeked around the pillar. Cantor had noticed Rob Trilling and was firing at him. I couldn’t see Doyle either on the bench of the booth or on the ground.

Now Cantor refocused on me. She started shuffling toward me like a zombie with the gun held up in her right hand. I knew I’d be in trouble as soon as she had a clear target. Though I had my own gun out of its holster, I was hesitant to shoot. I didn’t want to shoot Cantor. I didn’t want to accidentally shoot any patrons. I didn’t want to shoot anyone.

I sucked in a breath. Made sure my Glock was seated properly in my right hand. Then I stepped from behind the column.

We stared at each other with our pistols up. She kept shuffling toward me.

I said in a loud voice, “Drop the gun, Celeste.” Then I added, “Please.” I tried to will her to drop the gun.

Cantor shook her head slowly and mumbled, “Why?”

I caught Dennis Wu out of the corner of my eye. He moved right next to the window on the outside. He fired his pistol, shattering the wide window and distracting Cantor for just a moment.

She turned to shoot at Wu. Trilling and I had no choice. We both fired our pistols at exactly the same time.