Time’s my enemy, I know that. Lone Star doesn’t patrol the Ravenna area very frequently, but there are patrols. A cruiser might be only a couple of blocks away. Worse, the hit team might have back-up outside, already alerted by the sound of the carnage, charging up the stairs to the second floor at this very moment. And if that isn’t enough, eventually somebody—maybe packing something unpleasant—is going to open his apartment door to see what the frag went down. I’ve got to move—now.