hand off the weapon and roughly pulled the gun loose. The man dropped his hand to the floor. Bosch slid the gun across the carpet out of his reach.
There were two wounds in the man’s upper chest. Bosch had gone for body mass and his aim was true. The man was bleeding out quickly.
“Where is she?” Bosch said. “Where is she?”
The man made a grunting sound and blood dripped from his mouth down the side of his face. Bosch knew he would be dead in another minute.
Bosch heard a door open down the hallway and then quickly close. He checked but saw no one. Most people in a place like this wouldn’t want to get involved. Still, he knew it wouldn’t be long before the police stormed the hotel on the report of a shooting.
He turned back to the dying man.
“Where is she?” he repeated. “Where’s my?-”
He saw that the man was dead.
“Shit!”
Bosch got up and turned back to the alcove and Eleanor.
“They had to have-”
She was on the floor. Bosch rushed to her and dropped down to the floor.
“Eleanor!”
He was too late. Her eyes were open and just as blank as the man’s in the hallway.
“No, no, please, no. Eleanor!”
He couldn’t see any wound but she wasn’t breathing and her eyes were fixed. He shook her by the shoulders and got no response. He put one hand behind her head and opened her mouth with the other. He leaned forward to blow air into her lungs. But then he felt the wound. He pulled his hand out of her hair and it was covered in blood. He turned her head and saw the wound in the hairline behind her left ear. He realized she had probably been hit as he had pushed her into the alcove. He had pushed her into the shot.
“Eleanor,” he said quietly.
Bosch leaned forward and put his face down on her chest between her breasts. He smelled her familiar fragrance. He heard a loud, awful groan and realized it had come from himself.
For thirty seconds he didn’t move. He just held her there. Then he heard the elevator open behind him and finally raised himself up.
Sun stepped off the elevator. He took in the scene and his focus quickly went to Eleanor on the floor.
“Eleanor!”
He rushed to her side. Bosch realized it was the first time he had heard him say her name. He had pronounced it Eeeleanor.
“She’s gone,” Bosch said. “I’m sorry.”
“Who did this?”
Bosch started to get up. He spoke in a monotone.
“Over there. Two men fired on us.”
Sun looked into the hallway and saw the two men on the ground. Bosch saw the confusion and horror on his face. He then turned back to Eleanor again.
“No!”
Bosch stepped back into the hall and picked up the gun he had pulled from the man’s waistband. Without examining it, he tucked the weapon into his own pants and went back to the alcove. Sun was on his knees next to Eleanor’s body. He was holding her hand in his.
“Sun Yee, I’m sorry. They took us by surprise.”
He waited a moment. Sun said nothing and didn’t move.
“I have to do something here and then we have to go. I’m sure the police are on their way.”
He put his hand on Sun’s shoulder and pulled him back. Bosch knelt next to Eleanor and picked up her right arm. He wrapped her hand around the gun he had gotten from Sun. He fired a shot into the wall next to the elevator. He then carefully placed her arm back down on the floor, her hand still holding the gun.
“What are you doing?” Sun demanded.
“Gunshot residue. Is the gun clean or will it be traced back to whoever gave it to you”
Sun didn’t respond.
“Sun Yee, is the gun clean?”
“It’s clean.”
“Then let’s go. We have to take the stairs. There’s nothing we can do for Eleanor now.”
Sun bowed his head for a moment and then slowly stood up.
“They came from the stairs,” Bosch said, referring to the gunmen. “We’ll go that way.”
They moved down the hall but Sun suddenly stopped to examine the two men on the floor.
“Come on,” Bosch prompted. “We have to go.”
Sun finally followed. They hit the stairwell door and started down.
“They’re not triad,” Sun said.
Bosch was two steps ahead. He stopped and looked back up at him.
“What? How do you know”
“They’re not Chinese. Not Chinese, not triad.”
“Then what are they?”
“Indonesian, Vietnamese-I think Vietnamese. Not Chinese.”
Bosch started down again and picked up the pace. They had eleven flights