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our backs, just in case there was anyone in the mansion who wasn’t supposed to be there. Fletcher palmed one of the silverstone knives he carried for jobs like these, slid into the kitchen, and crept closer to Delov.
    I was so busy studying Fletcher that the faint click-click-click of toenails on the hardwood floor behind me didn’t register for a few precious seconds. When it finally did, I froze for a moment, then slowly turned my head to the side and looked down.
    A fat, fluffy Pomeranian with golden fur sniffed my left boot like it was the most interesting thing in the world.
    I bit back a curse. We hadn’t seen Peaches while we’d been skulking through the mansion, and I’d thought he must have curled up on another floor and gone to sleep for the night. I liked dogs, really I did, but they’d screwed up more than a few jobs Fletcher had taken me on. Still, I couldn’t kill the curious fluffball. Peaches was innocent, even if his owner wasn’t. No pets, no kids—ever. That was the code Fletcher had taught me and I was determined to live by it.
    I eased down to my knees and held out my hand, hoping that would distract the dog long enough for Fletcher to kill Delov. He was only about fifteen feet away from the giant now and closing fast. Ten more seconds, and he’d be in range. Five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . .
    Peaches sniffed my fingers and gave them a tentative lick. And then he started barking—loud, yippy, there’s-someone-new-new-new-in-the-house barks.
    Oh, no.
    Delov immediately whirled around at the sounds. Clutching the butcher’s knife he’d been slicing cheese and cold cuts with, he slashed out at Fletcher with it. Fletcher managed to jump out of the way, but Delov came at him with the knife again. Back and forth, the two men fought through the kitchen, knocking over dishes, silverware, and plates of food. I winced at all the noise they made. Good thing the guards were away for the night, or we would have been well and truly screwed. Beside me, Peaches kept barking and barking, but he seemed smart enough to know he would get stepped on and squished if he darted into the kitchen right now.
    I got to my feet, ready to charge in and help Fletcher, but there was nothing I could do. Since there was only one entrance to the kitchen, Delov would see me coming, so I couldn’t even distract the giant by sneaking up on him from behind.
    And then the worst thing of all happened. Delov’s fist actually connected with Fletcher’s chest.
    Fletcher cursed and stumbled back. Delov surged forward, looking to press his advantage, but the old man grabbed a copper pot from a rack above his head and smashed it into Delov’s face. The giant growled in pain. He staggered and slipped on some of the broken dishes that littered the floor, going down on one knee.
    But instead of regaining his feet, Delov fumbled with one of the cabinet doors below the sink, yanked it open, and reached inside. A second later, the glint of a gun appeared in his hand.
    “Run!” Fletcher yelled at me. “Run!”
    The old man had taught me to obey his orders no matter what when we were out on a job, so he didn’t have to tell me twice. I turned and ran, with him right behind me.
    Crack! Crack! Crack!
    Bullets chased us down the hallway, and the acrid stench of gunpowder burned through the air, overpowering the moldy cheeses. Fletcher and I darted into a sitting room, raced through it and out into another hallway on the far side. We zigzagged through the third floor of the mansion, never taking the obvious, straight route but moving toward our escape point all the while.
    Delov must have stopped to reload or maybe grab another gun from somewhere, because we quickly outran him, and I didn’t hear any sounds coming from behind us. But just before we got to the balcony and the stairs that would serve as our exit, Fletcher put a hand on my shoulder.
    “Stop, Gin,” he mumbled behind me. “Or at least slow down.”
    Slow down? We