Cassidy Jones and the Seventh Attendant (Cassidy Jones Adventures, Book Three) by Elise Stokes

through, while another crossed the floor to secure the other entrance, and two men walked toward me. I knew, by scent, that Moreau was one of them.
    “Two men are approaching you on your left. They’re approximately twenty feet away. One is armed.”
    The men passed the seventh attendant’s coffin without a pause, not noticing there was an additional mummy.
    Emery barely whispered, “They’re heading for Queen Kiya’s coffin—”
    They’re after the crown , I guessed, since that was the only item I hadn’t gotten a good look at—of course .
    “When I tell you, take out the man closest to you, on your left—he’s armed—then take out the man at the south entrance, also armed. The man at the north entrance has to move into position to get a clear shot, so the south entrance is your best escape.”
    I sent up a prayer that Mr. Phillips would not be one of the two men Emery had instructed me to attack.
    “What a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your Majesty,” Moreau cooed. “What a magnificent crown.”
    Emery instructed, “When I say ‘now,’ grab the crown, go through the south entrance, and run straight through the exhibits to the stairs. At the bottom, go out the emergency exit on the right. Don’t worry about the man on the south side. He is not in a position that poses a threat. You’ll be on Fifth Avenue, so hide quickly.”
    “Ah, it’s lovely,” Moreau said. I assumed he had the crown in his hands.
    “Now,” Emery ordered.
    I sprung out of the coffin and dove for the floor, catching marble with my palms. Immediately, I pushed off into a back flip, landed on my feet, and swung my leg in a roundhouse kick at the armed, masked man. My foot connected with his chest. His body curled around my foot, and he flew backward, his Glock skidding across the floor. I could tell by his build that he wasn’t Emery’s dad.
    The thief at the south entrance whirled around to see me coming at him, and his eyes widened with disbelief. A wad of pink bubble gum dropped from his gaping mouth.
    Moreau screamed.
    Simultaneously, I grabbed the gum-chewer by his shirt collar with one hand and seized his weapon with the other, then flung him through the air like he was a feather pillow. From the corner of my eye, I saw Mr. Phillips barrel forward, yanking back the slide on his Glock, as the man I had thrown crashed into the third attendant’s coffin. Both coffin and mummy flipped on top of him.
    “Abort!” Emery ordered.
    I ignored his command. No way could King, Mr. Phillips, Moreau, or anyone else get that last microchip.
    Pivoting, I faced Moreau.
    His legs shook as he clutched the crown to his chest, looking as if he wanted to run but was prevented from doing so by an invisible force.
    “No!” Moreau cried, hugging the crown to his chest. In a moment, it would be ripped from his hands, and I would be gone before he even knew what had happened.
    I let the gun fall to the floor and launched forward into a spray of bullets. Mr. Phillips had gotten his clear shot.
    With the first puncture of burning metal, my skin hardened, stopping the progression of the bullet into vital organs and numbing the pain. The impact caused me to stumble backward. One after another, bullets struck my midsection, ripping holes into the gauze and into me. Swaying and stumbling with the percussion of each bullet, I didn’t go down but pressed forward to Moreau. Then there was silence, almost as deafening as the gunfire had been. Mr. Phillips had emptied his gun into me. I looked up at him, stunned.
    Undeterred, he dropped the Glock and yanked the zombie killer up to his eye.
    “Get out now!” Emery thundered.
    An alarm wailed and lights flashed.
    Confused and overwhelmed, I swung away and bolted toward the south entrance, hurdling over the thief I had kicked to the ground. I ran into the adjoining room as the wall next to me seemed to explode, chunks of painted canvases and drywall flying everywhere. I stayed just ahead of the