Page 100 of Zorro

“Back!” Maritza hissed, pulling Everly around just as another door slammed shut behind them.

Chains rattled. Metal scraped. Devices were being attached.

Panic surged. Guests screamed. The few trying to run were shoved, caught, turned back by armed men sweeping the room.

Every exit gone.

Everly’s blood went ice cold. “They’re sealing us in.”

Men barked orders in multiple languages, Portuguese, Arabic, English.

Maritza pivoted fast. “We can’t go out. Fallback to the interior!” They ran but too late. Another group cut them off. Everyone was being funneled, shepherded, broken into manageable clusters. The three women were caught up in the surge of terrified guests, pushed shoulder to shoulder with strangers, herded back toward the main ballroom.

Everly’s chest heaved, as she tried to count exits. Assess threats. But all she could think was Zorro. Where was he? Did he know? Was he okay?

The woman beside her, Maritza, whose laughter had been warm like honey a heartbeat ago, now had her body turned slightly, shielding Julia and Everly both, her eyes scanning, mouth tight. Her chin lifted as a man approached, but Everly took her arm, knowing that kind of look on his face. “Don’t, Zazu,” she said softly.

“Smart choice,” he growled, then shoved them through the ballroom doors, crowded toward the walls, shouted at them to sit down. Then the horrible clicking sound.

They had locked them in.

Bailee stopped moving after ducking through and locking the fourth room, heart pounding as she braced her back against the wall. No sound. No motion. For now.

She went to the main door and back into the hallway. Hopefully, he’d followed. Now it was time to double back and get off this floor. She ran quietly back the way she had come. A soft ding broke the silence. Her eyes snapped to the panel. The floor light blinked.

Her stomach dropped.

“Son of a bitch,” she whispered. Carlos had given someone access. The elevator was coming up. She pivoted, bolted for the stairwell, only to freeze at the echo of footsteps clattering upward, fast, too many. She was trapped. The elevators were compromised. The stairs were overrun.

Nowhere left to go. Think, Bailee. Move.

She ducked back into the linen closet area. She couldn’t stay here, but at least she wasn’t exposed. She pulled out her phone, thumb flying.

Trapped on 23rd floor. Everyone dead. Multiple hostiles. Don’t know how many. No exit. Then she hit CALL, tried to dial Captain Leite. If they were hitting the summit, it was tactical, and BOPE was on the outside. They would be under fire.

The call failed, and she stared at the screen. “Shit,” she whispered. “They’re jamming comms.” She swallowed hard. She stared at her last sent text. Five seconds passed. Ten. No reply.

But she knew him. He would come. He had to. If she was stuck here long enough for them to sweep the floor…it wouldn’t matter.

Bear leaned comfortably against the cool railing of the balcony, the morning sun warm on his shoulders. Rio spread out below him, still sleepy and golden-edged in the soft haze of dawn. A quiet breeze drifted up from Ipanema Beach, bringing with it the scent of salt, fresh bread, and strong Brazilian coffee.

He sipped the dark brew slowly, eyes narrowing in quiet appreciation as he tore off another piece of bread from his plate and tossed it gently toward Flint. The Malinois caught it effortlessly, amber eyes bright, tail swishing against the tiles.

“Easy there, big guy. You eat any faster and we’re gonna have words,” Bear murmured, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Flint merely tilted his head, ears perked, chewing contentedly as he watched the bustling street below.

For one brief moment, everything felt peaceful, ordinary, perfectly balanced.

Then the stillness shattered.

A sudden burst of automatic gunfire cracked sharply through the morning air, echoing upward from the direction of the lobby. Bear froze mid-sip, every muscle instantly tensed, heartbeat kicking sharply into combat readiness. Flint sprang to immediate attention, his body rigid, fur bristling along his spine, ears angled forward toward the sound.

The rapid staccato of gunfire came again, distinctive, unmistakable.

Bear set the coffee down swiftly, stepping back into his room with purposeful calm, voice low and firm. “Heel, Flint. Time to work.”

He was already rising when the text alert hit. His phone lit up. Avalanche.

His blood went cold.

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