Free Forever and a Day by Ann Gimpel

brown-haired woman stared at Tamara out of dark eyes. “What are you doing in here?” she demanded in a slightly accented voice. “This is my room. They just gave it to me downstairs.”
    “If that’s the truth of things, show me your keycard.” Tamara was proud her voice didn’t quiver.
    The woman dipped a hand into her shoulder bag. Tamara tensed, waiting. She instructed her finger to tighten around the trigger, but it refused to cooperate. Her brain shrieked at her to shoot the bitch, get it over with.
    What if I’m wrong?
    The woman had been fishing about in her bag for too long. Tamara bit her lip so hard she tasted blood and forced herself to fire. The woman must have sensed what was coming because she spun out of the way. Tamara fired again. The woman fired back. Hot pain lanced through Tamara’s shoulder.
    The bathroom door slammed against its stops. Lars leaped through the air, tackled the woman, and drove her to the floor. Tamara raced to where they grappled with one another and stomped down hard on the woman’s gun hand. With a muffled string of expletives in an Eastern European language Tamara didn’t recognize, the woman’s hand opened and Tamara snatched her gun.
    Her shoulder was on fire. She bent to hold the gun to some part of the woman, any part, but Lars had his hands around her neck, choking her. “Shut the door,” he gritted through clenched teeth.
    When she got back to him, the woman lay in a limp heap. “Ach, Christ! Is she…”
    “No. I could have killed her, but I did not. I do not wish problems with the authorities here. Nor do I want to be troubled with lengthy explanations that would oblige us to remain in New York.”
    Tamara rocked back on her heels and clamped a hand over her shoulder. In that moment, she realized Lars was naked and averted her gaze. “You are injured.” He jumped to his feet, strode to the bathroom, and dragged clothes and a towel into the living room. “Why did you not do as I instructed?” he growled as he dried himself and dressed quickly.
    “I was going to, but it was a woman.” Tamara cringed. Her words sounded lame.
    “Since when are women exempt from being assassins?” His tone dripped sarcasm. “How bad is your shoulder?”
    “I have no idea.” She tried for a dignity she was far from feeling. “It isn’t like I get shot every day.” She lurched upright, still holding her shoulder that burned with a life of its own.
    He ran his sharp gaze over her, stepped to her side, and pried her hands off the wound. “Mmph. Looks like the bullet went through. You got lucky, fraulein . Let me take care of our guest here, and then I will do what I can for you.”
    “Won’t I need a hospital?”
    “Absolutely not. Too many questions for gunshot wounds. If we must, there are private doctors here in New York who will come to us.”
    “What are you going to do with her?” Tamara jerked her chin toward the comatose woman. Long brown hair spread around her where she lay on the floor.
    “Better if you do not know.” He thumped her chest with a finger. “If that fucking door opens again, I do not care if a ten-year-old is there, shoot to kill. Do you understand me?”
    “Stop yelling at me.”
    He took a deep breath. “Sorry. I am angry at myself. I should have known better than to leave you alone.”
    She caught hold of her temper. It had always flared hot. “I’m sorry too. I didn’t do what you said, but I promise I’ve learned my lesson.”
    His hard, flat gaze softened fractionally. He hefted the woman over one shoulder and let himself out the door. Tamara didn’t need his instructions to lock it behind him.
    She paced from one end of the suite to the other, gun gripped in her hand. It was the woman’s gun, but since it was a 9mm, and had more stopping power than Lars’ revolver, she clung to it. Adrenaline left an acrid taste in her mouth and she felt light-headed. She told herself she wasn’t badly wounded. Hadn’t Lars said so? Despite