By: Lois Greiman

And it must have worked, because the night went silent. My heart was beating like bongos against the dirt. I lifted my head a quarter of an inch. No pinging.

Behind me, something whined and suddenly I felt sick. Sick and shaky.

“Harlequin.” I turned on scathed hands and bloody knees.

Will Swanson was sprawled on the ground in front of me. Eyes staring, hand slack around the pistol that lay beside him.

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