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offered only an illusion of protection, she desperately looked around for the best way out. The presence of the wall separating the well from the galleries, designed to keep the principals in a trial at a safe distance from the public gallery, worked against them now. It was about three feet behind them, cutting them off from any chance at an easy escape. As she saw it, they had three choices: They could go over the wall and start leaping galleries, they could dash toward the small swinging door that led to the center aisle and bolt with the rest of the crowd for the exit, or they could stay put. The first two exposed them to the bullets that were still flying everywhere, and, if they were spotted by the bad guys as they were almost certain to be, might be the equivalent of painting targets smack in the middle of their backs. The third seemed safer, but in reality it left them vulnerable to being hit by a stray bullet—or discovered at any time by the gunmen.
    Who would, she had no doubt at all after what happened to Judge Moran, kill them with glee.
    The idea of being trapped and at the prisoners' mercy gave her the willies.
    "We need to make a break for it," she whispered to Bryan, who was looking around just as desperately as she was.
    He nodded.
    Before they could even think about making a move, the last remaining deputy, the one who earlier had been standing nearest to the jury box, popped into view. He was, she saw, middle-aged, his brown hair going gray around the temples, a little paunchy in his uniform. He shot out from behind the jury-box wall in an awkward, crouching run, yelling, "Officer down! Officer down!" into a walkie-talkie even as he fired his weapon multiple times to cover himself. Seconds after she spotted him, he took a bullet in the back. The walkie-talkie went sailing as he was flung forward. He landed, hard, just a few feet from where she and Bryan cowered. Kate looked with horror at his blinking eyes—and at the growing circle of crimson that blossomed like a fast-opening rose on the back of his dark blue shirt. The man wasn't dead, though, or at least not yet, because after he hit the floor his hand moved, closing into a loose fist. Her heart turned over. He needs help ...
    But there was nothing she could do. She couldn't even go to him without exposing herself to potentially deadly fire.
    "Hang on," she mouthed to the deputy, whose eyes had quit blinking. He was staring at her in a fixed way that she feared meant nothing but bad news. She was nearly positive he wasn't seeing her.
    As she looked back at him in horror, two things happened almost simultaneously. First, there was a quick barrage of shots accompanied by the crash of glass shattering. From the sound of it, the window closest to them had been shot out. Shards rained noisily to the floor, breaking again on the stone and sending a cloud of sparkling glass dust flying into view. Second, from the opposite end of the room where the doors to the hall were located came a mighty bellow loud enough to be heard over the chaos.
    "Police! Freeze! Get down, get down!" Thank God, we're saved ...
    "Shit," one of the bad guys—she was sure it was one of the bad guys, though not Orange Jumpsuit—cried, to the accompaniment of another burst of gunfire and a crescendo of screams that told Kate that the courtroom was still plenty full.
    "There's a fucking army of pigs outside!" Orange Jumpsuit shrieked, sounding way too close for Kate's liking.
    "I'm going for it." The voice was high-pitched, hysterical.
    "Little Julie, no!"
    If there was an answer, Kate didn't hear it, maybe because the words were swallowed up by another bellowed "I said freeze!" followed by a deafening burst of gunfire. Bullets whistled through the air, so close she could hear their passing. One smacked into the side of the jury box just a few feet away. Another gouged a chunk from the floor just beyond her briefcase. She and Bryan instinctively covered their heads, getting as low to