Jesus! The pistol had a magazine in it.

Immediately Broker snatched the weapon from her hand and dropped out the magazine, which smacked down on the polished maple tabletop like an exclamation point. For a fraction of a second he stared at the top stumpy bullet spring loaded in the magazine like a fat round tombstone. Then he racked the slide. No round in the chamber. Locked, not loaded. He exhaled audibly, only then realizing he’d been holding his breath.

“For the weight,” she said in a thick, labored voice.

Broker reached for the breakaway hideout holster on the table and was about to slide the pistol into it when he saw the unfolded note tucked inside:

“Went out for coffee with Janey. Be back soon.” A sensual openmouthed lipstick blot marked the note by way of signature.

Broker took a step back and placed the pistol on the counter next to the stove. Deep breath in. Shaky coming out.

She drilled him with a look that spiraled with palpable self-loathing and hair-trigger rage. With difficulty, he held her fierce gaze as he mentally tracked back five months to that North Dakota morning.

She’d left the note for Broker on the table in their room at the Langdon Motor Inn next to her holstered pistol. She’d decided not to take the gun when she went out with her partner, Janey Singer, for coffee. Then they’d taken a detour to the Missile Park Bar. Northern Route, their undercover mission to Langdon, North Dakota, had apparently been based on faulty intelligence. They had selected the wrong smuggler. Nina felt an obligation to say good-bye to her target in the misguided sting, Ace Shuster.

Broker gauged the turmoil in Nina’s eyes, glanced at the note on the table, and instinctively understood the source of her despair. She’d torn her shoulder to shreds fighting for her life. But that wasn’t it. That was later. No, it was leaving her weapon behind that morning.