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The band’s rendition ofTime of My Lifedrew to a close with a big flourish. And the blonde’s partner dipped her low. The woman’s breasts threatened to pop free. She shrieked in indignation and looked ready to slap her dance partner. I rolled my eyes and scanned the room for hotel security. Poorly behaved guests were not my team’s problem.
Before I reached for my phone to text hotel security again, the lights in the ballroom blinked out. A moment later, a small, bright explosion blinded me.
Shit. A flash-bang grenade.
Chaos followed. Shrieks of fear and gunshots ripped through the dark room.
The emergency lighting flickered to life. In the eerie yellow glow, everything looked different from a moment before. Guests that had been sipping champagne were running from the dance floor.
A man in a ski mask sprayed the ceiling with another burst of fire from an assault rifle.
“Down! Everyone, get down!” I screamed at the frightened people swarming toward the exits. I pulled an older couple toward a table and flipped it over to provide them with cover before they were trampled.
“Donotdraw your weapons. Understood?“ I hated telling my team to stand down, but escalating this situation would never work. My team had zero chance of stopping whatever the hell was going to happen. There were only three of us in the room; we were outgunned. The bystanders further hindered our options. “Report! What can you all see?”
As I waited for responses, I counted attackers, craning my neck around the overturned table. There were at least six, well-armed. They wore ski masks and waitstaff tuxedos. All of them but the shooter on the dance floor were moving past me toward the auction display.
It was a fucking robbery.
“Doors are locked from the inside. I’m outside looking for a way in,” Noah reported.
“Confirmed. Chains and padlocks on all the exit doors,” Damon added from his position somewhere across the ballroom. This was a well-coordinated attack. How had we not seen them locking the doors?
Another spray of bullets sent plaster raining down on my head.
“Calm the fuck down!” The man in the ski mask on the dance floor shouted into a bullhorn. “Now! Or people start dying.” To illustrate his willingness to carry out the threat, he pointed his weapon at a band member huddled between the stage and a large speaker and fired. The room fell into a strained near silence, the gunman’s point violently driven home. Sobs and soft crying replaced the madness that reigned moments before.
“Gunshot victim on the dance floor! I count six gunmen. One on the dance floor, the rest are focused on the auction tables.” I pitched my voice low to avoid drawing the nearest gunman’s attention as I spoke into the concealed mic that connected me to my team.
“Miami Dade PD en route,” Quinn replied in my ear. “All my cameras are down, and the smart building technology is offline.”
I dared another glance toward the auction tables. The robbers worked fast, sweeping anything small and valuable into their bags.
On the dance floor, their spokesman jerked the cloth off a nearby table, sending a flower arrangement crashing to the ground and exposing a woman in a white gown cowering beneath. Involuntarily, my hand flew to my weapon.
One thought drowned out all others. Amber Lee.
I was on my feet and moving before I realized it wasn’t her. It was the blonde who had been dancing moments ago. I froze and sank back to the ground behind the table. The older couple gasped, eyes fixed on the gun in my hand. I shoved it back into its holster. A crashing wave of self-recrimination replaced my irrational fear for Lee. I didn’t disregard orders, ever—especially not my own.
The spokesman, using the crying blonde as a shield, led his gang of thieves toward an exit. Guns drawn, threatening anyone in their way. Three robbers fired more bullets into the ceiling, and the group plowed through the ruined ballroom and out the doors.
The robbery took less than five minutes.
“They have locked us in.” Steel’s words were hard to hear over the barrage of gunfire from the lobby.
“Team report!” I rushed to the injured man on the dance floor. My people inside the ballroom were safe, but the others were out of my sight.
The all-clears started with Quinn and Simon from the control room. Then Brooks and Steel in the ballroom. Both were assisting guests with minor injuries. Next was Noah, still on the east patio, frustrated that he was unable to gain access to the ballroom.
The silence on the comms felt heavy as we all waited for the new hire, Sydney O’Connor, to report.
“Ballroom lobby clear,” Sydney chimed in at last. “FYI, room is filled with broken glass and not safe for guests.” Her voice eased the knot in my chest. I’d lost people before. It was a kind of pain a commander never forgot.
“Ballroom is locked down. No one gets out until Miami Police say so. Let’s get all the injured onto the dance floor. And try to keep everyone calm.” It was time for my team to get to work restoring order.
I kneeled next to the man who’d been shot. He was pale and shaking, shock already setting in. I pulled his bloody hands from his wound on his upper leg to assess the damage. The bullet had passed through the meaty outside part of the limb. He should survive. I grabbed a wad of napkins from the ground and pressed them to his leg. He sucked in a pained breath but was so out of it he could barely focus on my face.
“Are you a doctor?” I turned to find a distinguished-looking man with gray hair bent next to me.
