10
AS SOON AS Johnny heard the distress in Scarlett’s voice, he raced from his suite and pounded through the hallway at the Ritz in a T-shirt and yellow-striped boxer briefs, dodging shocked guests. He yelled over his shoulder. “Call security to Room 410, Scarlett Sandoval’s room. There’s a shooter outside!” He repeated his words in Spanish, pleading for help.
A couple of women screamed. A man turned and ran into his own room. “I’ll call,” he said.
“Hurry, my girlfriend is still in there.”
Johnny thudded down the stairwell, taking three steps at a time, and burst onto her floor.
He still had her on his cell phone. “Scarlett, can you get to the door?”
“No, it’s in the direct path of the balcony door, where the shots are coming from. Don’t get too close, Johnny. Please don’t.” As her v
