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reached up and chucked her on the chin. She was gaping at him when he turned to disappear through the doorway leading to the back of the house.
    What the hell is happening? She felt like she’d been eating at the buffet of the bizarre all day, but that little display of Mac’s definitely put the cherry on top of the weirdo dessert of it all.
    In the span of a few minutes, he’d gone from his usual Mr. Cranky-Pants to Sir Kissy Smiles-A-Lot.
    “Lower level’s clear,” he said, reappearing suddenly, causing her to jump and instinctively raise the weapon he loaned her. “Whoa!” He lifted his hands, splaying the last three fingers of his right hand wide while his thumb and forefinger kept hold of his pistol. “Ventilating any mofo that comes at you is the general idea, darlin’. But I was kinda hopin’ you wouldn’t think to do as much to me.”
    “S-sorry,” she said, lowering the little handgun and gulping in sawdust-tinged air that scratched at her already dry, itchy throat. “I just…I’m not…” She stopped and shrugged.
    And that’s when he did it again . He freakin’ went and winked at her before turning to jog up the stairs.
    Okay, so now it was all crystal clear. Somewhere, at some point, she’d fallen into a parallel universe. Shaking her head at this place heretofore referred to as Bizarro-Land, she winced when the movement caused her bruised brain to jostle against the sides of her skull.
    Lifting a hand, she rubbed at the lump forming on the back of her head— ow —just as the front door burst open. Spinning, she raised the pistol, supporting the butt with her free hand just as her uncle had taught her, then blew out a harsh breath when she realized it was Zoelner stepping over the threshold.
    “He got away,” he informed her, panting as he placed his hands on his hips and bent at the waist. “Fucker disappeared into the labyrinth of alleys around here, and I didn’t dare follow in case he was packing. Didn’t want to find myself stuck in a fatal funnel.”
    Huh? “What’s a—”
    That’s all she managed to get out before Mac reappeared on the stairway. “Fatal funnels are hallways and alleys,” he answered the question she’d been in the middle of asking. “And they’re the last place a guy wants to be when the bullets start flyin’.”
    “Oh.” She nodded. “Makes sense.” And that was about the only thing in this entire weird-ass day that did .
    “Who was he?” Zoelner asked, and Delilah’s chin jerked back when she realized he was looking directly at her.
    “You’re asking me?” Unconsciously, she used the pistol as a pointer and aimed it at her own chest. When she looked down and realized what she was doing, she gulped and carefully set the weapon atop one of the sawhorses. “I…I have n-no idea. I didn’t get a chance to see his f-face, and I certainly didn’t recognize his v-voice.”
    Oh, good grief. Why in the world were her teeth ch-ch-chattering like she was standing in the bar’s walk-in refrigerator? She’d been in worse situations than the one upstairs. For heaven’s sake, she’d actually taken part in a bona fide shoot-out!
    Okay, and that was the dead-last thing she wanted to remember at this particular moment. Because anytime she opened the mental door to that terrible afternoon, the entire sad scene would inexplicably flash before her eyes. And, yup, right on cue, she saw it all again. Buzzard, her wiliest and most loyal patron slumped on a barstool, blood pouring from him in a thick, ghastly river, his eyes glassy and vacant and… dead .
    Her chest suddenly felt like it was supporting the weight of an elephant. And from out of nowhere came the thought that perhaps her uncle was somewhere in the same condition. Sitting or lying or crumpled in a heap, covered in blood and lifeless…
    Oh, God!
    “He spoke to you?” Mac queried, dragging her from her wild speculations. Thank goodness. She’d just about played the part of a nuclear reactor