Chapter 5 - Nineteen Seconds
In the hallway outside the Gold Room, the carpet was three inches thick, deadening the sound of the world outside.
The two guards Marcus had left in the hall were standing six feet apart. One was smoking a thin cigar despite the hotel rules; the other was leaning against the gilded wallpaper, checking his nails with a small folding knife.
Quinn stood between them, three feet from the oak door, her back to the wall.
"Hey, sweetheart," the one with the cigar said, blowing a thin stream of grey smoke toward her face. "You got a phone number? In case your boss doesn't come out of that room in one piece?"
Quinn didn't answer. She was watching the second hand on her cheap plastic wristwatch.
Four minutes until the meeting was scheduled to end.
Three seconds until the lock on the inside engaged.
Click.
The small, metallic sound of the interior bolt sliding shut echoed faintly through the wood.
The guard with the cigar grinned. "That's the sign. Time for you to take a nap, kid."
He stepped forward, reaching out a thick, calloused hand to grab her by the throat. He moved with the lazy confidence of a man who had grabbed a hundred women in his life and never had one hit him back.
Quinn didn't step away.
She took one short step into his reach, her left hand coming out of her coat pocket like a strike from a copperhead. Her thumb slammed into the soft nerve cluster beneath his jawline.
The man’s eyes rolled back. His knees turned to water before he could even register the pain.
As he fell, Quinn’s right hand pulled Tommy’s massive Sig Sauer from her interior pocket.
The second guard dropped his knife, reaching for his armpit holster with a panicked yell.
Quinn didn't shoot him in the chest.
She stepped inside his guard, brought the heavy steel barrel of the Sig Sauer up under his chin, and pulled the trigger once.
THUMP.
The silenced round didn't roar; it sounded like a heavy textbook dropped on a deep rug.
The second man slammed back against the gilded wall, his eyes wide and blank, sliding down the wallpaper in a long, red streak.
Quinn didn't look at him. She caught the first guard by his belt before his knees hit the floor, dragging his limp body toward the service alcove three feet away so he wouldn't block the door frame.
She picked up the cigar he had dropped on the carpet, ground it out beneath the heel of her boot, and pulled a heavy brass master key from her own pocket—the one she had stolen from the hotel housekeeping cart while Leo was arguing with the garage attendants twenty minutes ago.
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She inserted the key into the lock.
Total time elapsed: nineteen seconds.
