The Jefferson Key

CASSIOPEIA CROUCHED LOW, USING THE TABLE AS COVER.

Two retorts.

Close by.

And the windows behind her shattered from bullets.

She recovered and sent a round in reply, aiming for the spot in the fog where she’d spotted muzzle flashes.

BY ELIMINATING THE SET OF WINDOWS BEHIND THE WOMAN, Wyatt had provided her an easy escape route. They stretched six feet from the floor, like doors, an easy matter to step through.

But she wasn’t leaving.

He aimed his next shot at the table she was using for cover.

On the fourth round, he might not be so generous.

MALONE HAD TO RETURN TO GROUND LEVEL AND SEE ABOUT Cassiopeia. She and Wyatt were engaged in a gun battle. But the south stairway, to his right, the one he’d used to ascend, was not the way. He decided to head to the north side of the building and the second set of risers.

He quickly found them and descended.

CASSIOPEIA DECIDED THAT RETREAT WAS THE SMART MOVE. TOO many bullets, too much smoke.

How many assailants were there?

And why had Cotton not answered?

She fired another round, then darted out the open frame behind her, leaping from the portico.