Yefim was watching her admiringly. “I’m afraid not,” he said, truly remorseful.
Chance pulled beers from a small refrigerator in the back. “Dash? You want one?” As Dash shook her head, Chance continued, “Of course not. Gleb? Yefim?” She turned from the refrigerator with two beers. Both of the guards shook their heads regretfully. Chance shook her head. “Cowards,” she muttered as she put down one beer, popped the top off the other, and raised it to her lips. She threw her head back and gulped loudly, though it seemed to Dash, scrutinizing her with suspicious astonishment, that she didn’t actually swallow much beer.
Chance was gliding through the room toward Yefim when they heard gunfire outside. Dash and both guards looked quickly toward the door. Dash saw a flicker of movement where Cha
