Page 85 of Bad Rio

At the bottom of herhandbag, still hung on her arm, Becca scrabbled her fingers around until she found what she wanted. She had no pen with which to stab Harrison, no folding knife, not even a comb to jab into his face.

But she did have her full container of loose make-up powder. In her other hand she clutched the Glock and wished she could use it herself. However, with little confidence in her shooting skills, she was certain that the instant Harrison saw it he’d kill both her and Rio. He’d be faster on the uptake than she could ever be.

No, she must get the weapon into more capable hands. Rio’s hands. Right then, she needed a distraction—a diversion—if only to buy her an all-important beat in time.

At the cabin, Rio had said that throwing dirt or sand into an enemy’s eyes could temporarily blind them, could buy vital seconds. Wouldn’t make-up powder do the same? Her fingers still deep inside her purse, she worked to unscrew the top and managed to dump its contents into her palm. Her shaking fingers curled around the precious, fine grains. She bit her lip.

Just as Harrison was sliding his card key into the lock, she drew her hand from the bag and threw the powder directly into his eyes.

“Damn you!” His head jerked back and he released his hold on Rio. He clawed at his eyes.

She thrust the Glock at Rio. Taking it, he shoved her away. Stumbling back to the wall, she cried out, and caught her balance.

Harrison roared and raised his Beretta. He bared his teeth.

Gunshots boomed. Her heart in her throat, Becca hugged the wall.

Not three feet away, Harrison twisted this way, then that, his body riddled with bullets. He fell back, and landed twitching on the carpet. Then he stilled. From two holes in his forehead and three in his chest, blood dripped on the floor, and made small pools.

Rio stood, bent to the side, panting. His Glock was still raised.

From down the hall, men ran past Becca to approach the man on the floor. They first kicked the gun away from his lifeless hand, then turned to Rio. “You all right?”

“Yeah. But that was close, Paxton. Not sure if I got him first or you did. Where the fuck have you been?”

“Sorry, got hung up on the elevator. Had to use the stairs. And you hit him first. You got the head shots. I got him center mass.” The man was tall, burly, and carried himself with the same poised self-confidence as Rio.

Lightheaded, Becca gaped at them all, mostly at the dead man. She’d never seen anyone shot before. Never seen anyone die. Her fingers went to her mouth. With the smoke already dissipating, the acrid smell of gunpowder filled her nostrils.

Still leaning to his side, Rio moved to take her arm. “Are you okay?”

Unable to speak, she wobbled her head in something resembling a nod.

The men quickly secured the area and kept hotel patrons from the hallway. She and Rio were taken downstairs to wait for the police. Paxton, apparently the man in charge, said to them, “Don’t worry. We have a pretty good working relationship with the authorities. They’re gonna have a lot of questions, and it’ll take a while, but we’ll get matters straightened out. I’ll be back down in a few.”

Downstairs, the hotel had erupted into a panic. The gunfire had echoed through the floors and people were running, scrambling for cover, locking themselves into their rooms. Women screamed and hotel employees shouted conflicting instructions.

Rio led her through the milling crowd to the lobby and an out-of-the-way grouping of sofa and chairs. They sat, which was a good thing because Becca was sure her shaking knees were about to give out. Unsteady, she sank down.

Rio pressed his hand to his side. Blood soaked through both layers of his two shirts. He pulled Becca to his other side, and stroked her arm.

In minutes, the man Rio had called Paxton joined them. He was muscular, with a short, military-style haircut and a self-possessed manner.

Rio said, “Ben Paxton, this is Rebecca De Monte.”

Paxton inclined his head. “Miss De Monte.”

“Nice to meet you,” she managed, her voice quavering. “Thanks for saving our lives.”

He cracked a small smile. “It looked like you two had things pretty well in hand. What was that stuff you threw into Harrison’s face?”

“Make-up powder,” she managed to get out, teeth chattering. “From my handbag.”

“Genius move, blinding Harrison.” He gave her an admiring glance. “Your timing was spot on, too. Just now, we went into Harrison’s room, checked it out. It looks like he’d prepared a kill site. A lot of plastic laid out on the floor.”

“Plastic?” She blinked. Her brain felt like wet oatmeal. It seemed to be barely working.

“To contain the blood,” Rio explained. He kept his hand pressed to his bleeding side. “To hold our bodies. No evidence left behind.”

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