A door slamming.
He's here.
I grab Susie, pull her up, position her in front of me.
Knife back at her throat.
Human shield.
The front door opens.
Ted Tomlinson walks in.
He sees me immediately.
Sees the knife at his wife's throat.
His face goes through a series of expressions—surprise, recognition, calculation.
He knows who I am, knows why I'm here.
"You shouldn't have come here," he says.
"You shouldn't have touched her."
His eyes flick to Susie.
To the knife.
Back to me.
"Let my wife go. This is between us."
"It became about her the moment you walked through that door." I press the blade tighter against Susie's neck. She whimpers. "Close the door. Lock it. Then we're going to have a conversation."
He hesitates, weighing his options, looking for an angle.
"I have people," he says. "People who will come looking for me if I don't check in."
"Then you better make this quick. Door. Lock. Now."
He does as he's told.
Closes the door.
Turns the deadbolt.
Stands there with his hands at his sides, trying to look calm.
But I can see the sweat on his forehead.
The tightness around his eyes.
He's scared.
Good.
"Here's how this works," I say. "You're going to give me information. Names. Locations. Everything about the operation you're part of. And then you're going to give me back what you took."
