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His room was right next to the stairwell. Of course. She slipped into the room without anyone seeing her, the entire hotel quiet.
    “What a slob!” she muttered. Well, not really, but saying it made her feel better for some reason. She went to the closet first and found a leather duffel and a few clothes hanging from the bar. It took seconds to pack them, along with the pants draped across the unmade bed, the underwear under the desk, and the extra shoes in the corner. Another minute and a half for the toiletries and ditty bag, two minutes to scan and search for any obvious items scattered around the small room.
    She had tons of time left. Brady would call to check out of the hotel, so she set the key card on the desk and slung the bag over her shoulder, ready to head out.
    Then halted. Nope, this wasn’t right.
    Of course Brady didn’t want to tell her what else needed to be done, but she couldn’t leave it un done. She dropped the bag and knelt next to the bed, shoving her arms deep between the mattresses. Nothing. She went all the way around the bed without finding what she was looking for. Dammit, her arms were too short. She stood and heaved the mattress up. There it was, in the middle—a small gun case. She couldn’t hold up the mattress and reach it with her hand, so she stretched out a foot and slid it closer, then pulled it out and let the mattress fall. The weight of the case told her the weapon was inside. For a second she was furious with him, going to a meet unarmed, but schooled her emotions. He knew what he was doing, far better than she.
    She sat at the desk and used the secure satellite phone she’d taken from Brady’s DC apartment to make a few calls. Half an hour later, she was at an outdoor café, the case in a tote at her feet, waiting for her contact. He approached, right on time, and the hand-off went smoothly, the only hiccup the troubled grief she saw in his eyes. As her contact passed, hooking the tote she lifted by the straps with her foot, there was a flash when she imagined them hugging, offering condolences to each other. Then he was gone.
    But word had spread, and he clearly knew why she was here, turning in the weapon he’d secured for Brady when he entered the country. The grief she knew had been mirrored in her own eyes would be confirmation, and word would spread further still. There was danger in this work, but nevertheless, loss of a SIEGE agent was rare and sent ripples through the whole community, even though most members of the organization wouldn’t know which of their own had gone down, nor that Chris had even been one.
    It was almost time to meet Brady. Molly finished her coffee, glad the rain had stopped, and stood to orient herself. The meeting location was north, about half a mile, and she decided to walk. She didn’t want to arrive too early and linger, calling attention to herself in a city where everything moved, albeit at a different pace than she was used to.
    Hefting Brady’s duffel and her own smaller bag over her shoulder again, she headed down the street, matching her stride to those around her, weaving through the crowd with purpose but not intent. The sidewalks thinned as she passed an invisible line from “safe” city central to a more hard-knock area. For a moment she worried she’d gone the wrong way. But no, there was a street sign, and she was in the right place. Just a few more buildings, and—
    Brady exited an alley about fifty feet in front of her. Glad he was safe, Molly smiled, but instincts she hadn’t known she possessed broke her into a run as she registered a movement across the street—a figure with a gun in an upper window. She didn’t shout, but Brady took off toward her, as if her running was a signal. A report echoed off the buildings around them. Chips flew from the brick over their heads as they collided, each struggling to push the other to the ground and neither doing more than ducking enough to keep their heads from being blown