Ethan nodded, and the car sped past Antonio.
With Erin at the wheel, the Chevrolet surged toward the entrance. Pieces of plastic were scattered across the asphalt, and the shattered barrier hung crookedly to one side.
Erin didn't lift her foot off the accelerator. The SUV swerved sharply and climbed the ramp. Then a red blur appeared in front of them—a Camry burst out of the garage through the exit.
The two girls in the front seats of the oncoming car screamed, frozen in terror as that massive vehicle seemed to materialize out of nowhere, bearing down on them.
—Watch out! —Ethan shouted, gripping the door handle tightly.
In an instant, Erin and the car became one; hands and feet perfectly coordinated.
She didn't brake. If anything, she floored it.
The SUV skimmed past the Camry by less than a centimeter; Ethan could almost feel imaginary sparks flying between the two cars.
—Screech!
A brutal stop brought the Chevrolet to a complete halt.
When the red Camry disappeared in the rearview mirror, sweat instantly beaded on Erin's forehead.
She had accelerated on instinct; she braked out of fear.
—Fuck, we lost them! —someone screamed hysterically from the back—
—Come on —Ethan said, squeezing her shoulder—. You did good.
—Mmm…
Erin swallowed hard and accelerated again, though she eased off slightly, afraid the same thing might happen again.
She glanced at Ethan while discreetly wiping the sweat from her hands.
The car exited the parking structure quickly. Outside, everything was deserted; the roads stretched out in every direction, as usual.
Not a single car. Not a person in sight.
—Shit!
Erin slammed the steering wheel in frustration, picked a direction at random, and took off.
A minute later, the Chevrolet slowly returned to the underground parking lot.
—We lost them. They must be far from here by now.
Hank and Antonio were standing together. Olinsky's car and the others were still parked nearby. Ethan shook his head.
—Damn it —Antonio shook his arm, his jacket soaked—. We were just one minute late.
—Don't beat yourself up —Hank said calmly, checking his watch—. Ethan, you two head to the hospital. Amber Morris is almost awake; see if you can get something out of her.
Erin nodded and pulled away. After what had happened, irritation simmered under her skin: everything confirmed that the three girls were still carrying the drugs inside their bodies, while one of those responsible rested safely in a hospital bed.
Chicago Hospital. Underground parking. They parked and took the elevator up to the ER. They spoke with the patrol officer guarding the door to her room, but Amber was still unconscious. There was nothing to gain from pointless rushing, so they ended up sitting in the waiting room.
—Sit down.
It was nearly noon. Ethan's stomach growled; he'd only had coffee that morning. He motioned to Erin.
—I'm going to the hospital cafeteria to get something to eat —Ethan said, standing up—. Want anything?
Erin looked up, exhausted, slouched back in the chair.
—Whatever. I'm starving too.
Ethan nodded and walked down the hall. When he came back, he was carrying two paper bags. Inside were two burgers wrapped in paper, already a little cold but decent enough to kill the hunger, and two cans of Diet Coke.
—It's not a feast, but it's better than nothing. —he said—
Erin managed a tired smile as she took one of the burgers.
Silence settled around them again, broken only by the rustle of paper and the sharp crack of cans opening, while the hospital carried on its indifferent routine around them. Soon Erin's phone vibrated, and she stood up to take the call.
When she returned to her seat, Erin hung up; whatever excitement the food had brought was gone.
—Who was it?
—Hank.
Erin handed him a tissue, clearly irritated.
—He asked about Amber. Still no sign of the car; they definitely switched the plates. We screwed this one up… they took those girls right in front of us.
—It's not your fault, Lind. You know that. —Ethan crumpled the tissue—. We did what we could. Now we just have to wait for Amber to wake up and tell us what she knows.
—I know —Erin clenched her teeth—, but thinking about three girls carrying drugs, waiting to be cut open… God.
She let out a deep sigh.
—When this case is over, you and I are drinking that expensive bottle you bought the other day.
—Detective.
A nurse approached them quickly.
—Amber Morris is awake. You can speak with her now.
They both stood immediately and followed the nurse into the room.
Inside the hospital room, Erin closed the door.
Ethan stood with his arms crossed, leaning against the wall, staring impassively at Amber, who lay in the bed. The young woman had a round face and rosy skin. She looked well-rested and was now fully conscious.
Facing the two badge-carrying officers, her expression was clearly nervous.
With one hand cuffed to the bed, Amber understood her situation all too well.
—I can't believe this —Amber said, forcing a stiff smile—. I don't even know why I'm here… I don't remember what happened.
Erin stepped forward, lowering her voice.
—Well, I can help refresh your memory a bit. We pulled thirty packets of cocaine out of your stomach —she said coldly—. You landed this morning in Chicago on a direct flight from Mexico.
She paused briefly, just long enough for the words to sink in.
—Now tell me —she added—, which part of that don't you remember?
Amber's eyes darted quickly around the room as she pressed her lips together.
—The people who used you to move the drugs just kidnapped three of your friends —Erin said in a low, cutting voice—. And believe me, they're not going to be as patient with you as we are.
Amber went pale.
Erin leaned toward the bed and gripped the railing tightly, making the metal creak.
—Listen to me carefully —she continued, never breaking eye contact—. If you don't tell us right now who's behind this, the moment we confirm your friends are dead, everything will fall on you.
She paused deliberately, letting the silence weigh on her.
—Drug trafficking. Homicide. Conspiracy. —She listed each charge with surgical calm—. You can do the math yourself… decades in prison, no parole.
She straightened slightly, just enough to deliver the final blow:
—This is your only chance for anyone to walk out of this room alive.
Amber's face flushed at those words.
—I can't tell you —Amber stammered, visibly shaken.
—Why? —Erin pressed, without softening her tone.
Tears began to slide down Amber's cheeks. She pressed her lips together, unable to answer.
Ethan stepped forward then, stopping beside the bed. He looked down at her, a chill in his gaze that froze the room.
—Your three friends could be dying right now —he said slowly—. Their stomachs cut open, their guts ripped out… then dumped in some dark, freezing alley.
—Shut up! —Amber screamed, losing control—. Shut up!
Ethan didn't stop.
—Naked —he continued—. Their eyes glazed over, lifeless.
His voice sped up, growing louder, hammering down.
—The rats started with their hands. Then their faces. Rotting there until some homeless guy found them by the smell.
Amber sobbed, struggling to breathe.
—Their parents were destroyed —he went on—. Their friends crying over black body bags.
He leaned a little closer to her.
—And you caused all of that. For decades in prison, you're going to relive this scene over and over again.
He paused for the briefest moment.
—Nonstop.
Amber's eyes went wide, overflowing with terror. Her chest rose and fell erratically.
—Until your very last breath —Ethan finished—, you'll hear them screaming in your ear.
¡Bang!
Ethan slammed both fists into the hospital bed.
—Amber! —he roared—. Why didn't you save them?
He leaned close to her face, pronouncing the name like a sentence:
—Sean Collins!
Amber broke completely. Her body shook with uncontrollable sobbing.
—He loves me! —she cried—. He wouldn't hurt my friends… please, believe me!
Erin, shaken by Ethan's calculated brutality, took a deep breath and regained control.
—Whoever did this to you doesn't love you —she said firmly—. He used you. From the start.
Amber nodded through her tears.
—It was all my boyfriend's idea… —she confessed—. Him and his brother, Brandon Collins.
She wiped her face with the back of her cuffed hand.
—He'd done it before and nothing happened… he promised to pay my friends five thousand dollars for each trip…
Her voice broke.
—I never thought this would happen… —she whispered—. Oh God… I'm so sorry.
Ethan looked at her in silence, his expression hard, almost disbelieving, as if he couldn't decide whether to feel pity or contempt. Finally, he gave a slight shake of his head.
Without saying a word, he turned and opened the door.
He left the room and, once in the hallway, pulled out his phone.
—Voight.
—It's Ethan. I've got a lead: Sean Collins and Brandon Collins. They usually hang around a tattoo shop called Underground Ink on the North Side.
—Good —Voight replied on the other end of the line, without hesitation—. I'll have Alvin and Rusek stake it out. Get back here first.
The call ended. From inside the room, Amber's muffled crying still seeped through the closed door.
Erin stepped out after Ethan. She walked a few steps in silence before speaking.
—Amber completely broke down… you were really hard on her in there. —she said finally—
Ethan slipped his phone into his pocket and shrugged, unfazed.
—So? Those girls could die at any moment. We don't have time to deal with a lovestruck teenager.
Erin pressed her lips together, looked at him for a second, and then punched him sharply in the shoulder.
—Well done!
After returning to the station, thanks to the lead they'd gotten, Erin's mood changed completely. As they climbed the stairs, she even allowed herself to laugh and give him a couple more playful jabs to the shoulder—light, but firm enough to make Ethan wince and step away.
In front of the unit's board, Hank had witnessed the whole scene without changing his expression.
—Did you find anything on the Collins brothers? —Ethan asked, moving closer to the board when he saw two new photos pinned to it.
One showed an attractive young man with a confident look and an easy smile: Sean Collins.
The other was of a man with a tired expression, dull eyes, and deep lines etched into his face.
—They've got priors for armed robbery and violent assaults —Hank explained as he took a seat—. While you were coming back from the hospital, we sent patrols to search their residences. No one home.
Antonio stood up, waving a few files.
—We pulled the DMV records.
—Yeah —he added—. A black Ford minivan registered to Brandon. Probably the one I saw, just with a different plate.
—For people like them, getting fake plates isn't hard —Ethan said—. But it's temporary; they'll switch them after they finish their dirty work.
—That's what we think too —Hank nodded—. I already asked Jin to track the real plate. We'll have something soon.
Everything had fallen into place in the short time since they returned from the hospital. Fast, really. They just needed to bring Ethan and Erin up to speed.
Alvin and Rusek weren't in the office; they were probably already on surveillance.
Now all that was left was to wait.
¡Bang!
Hank slammed his hand down on Erin's desk as soon as he entered the office, making several papers tremble.
Erin followed him inside, frowning.
—Sit down —he ordered without looking at her—. And close the door.
Hank leaned back in his chair, fingers interlaced in front of his chest, his gaze fixed on her.
—Lower the blinds too.
—What's with all the secrecy? —Erin murmured, though she obeyed. She closed the door and pulled the cord; the outside light slowly faded, but she didn't sit down—she wanted to keep some sense of control.
Hank stayed silent for a few seconds, then finally spoke:
—What's going on between you and Ethan?
—What? —Erin opened her hands, clearly irritated—. Since when did you become so nosy? Do you care now who I'm seeing?
The room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the distant hum of the station.
Erin remained standing, arms crossed, waiting.
—I've been watching you —Hank finally said, without beating around the bush—
Erin frowned, uncomfortable.
—Watching me how?
—Don't waste my time —he replied—. The way you look at him, the way you walk together, the way you laugh with him… that's not just partnership.
Erin let out a short, disbelieving laugh.
—Is that it? You're a body-language expert now too?
Hank didn't smile.
—No. I'm an expert on people —he said in a low voice—. Tell me the truth. Are you sleeping together?
Erin looked away for a moment, took a deep breath, then faced him again. If it couldn't be avoided, it was better to be honest.
—Yes —she admitted—. But it's nothing serious.
Hank frowned.
—Explain.
—It's nothing more than that… we blow off steam —Erin said honestly—. We're cops, Hank. There aren't many people who understand what we carry every day, and Ethan is… a breath of fresh air.
She paused briefly before continuing:
—You brought him here, you know him… you trust him. So steady, so unshakable, like nothing is ever out of his control. And that's comforting. Knowing you can lean on someone who doesn't look at you like you're made of glass, who has your back and trusts you…
Hank didn't interrupt.
—Most of the time —she went on—, when you date someone from the job, they start treating you like you're fragile. Doubts, fears, overprotection… like you don't know how to do your job.
—And Ethan isn't like that? —Hank asked.
—No —Erin replied firmly—. He backs me up. He covers me. He trusts me. He doesn't try to save me or hold me back… in a way, he reminds me of you.
She didn't say anything else, but the thought came on its own, uncomfortable, inevitable.
Maybe that's why.
Hank lowered his gaze for a second and ran a hand over his face, tired.
—This isn't going to end well —he murmured.
—It never does —Erin replied—. But I'm not crossing any line I can't handle. Just trust me, like you always do.
—That's what I was hoping to hear —he muttered—. But be careful, Erin. With Ethan… nothing is as simple as it looks. I've always treated you like my own daughter. You know that, and I worry about you, that's why I'm warning you. If you get too close to him, you could end up hurt.
—I'm not a rookie —Erin shot back firmly—. I can take care of myself.
Hank sighed, worn down.
—That was never in doubt —he admitted—. But when you start getting emotionally involved, even the best make mistakes.
Erin pressed her lips together.
—I'll think about it… but I don't want you interfering. If something happens, I want it to be my decision, not yours. —she said—
Hank looked at her for a few more seconds, then nodded in resignation.
—Just one question —said Lindsay, stopping at the door before leaving the office—. I know your policy about relationships within the unit.
Hank looked up.
—Are you making an exception for me… or for him?
Hank studied her for a moment. Then a half-smile crossed his face.
—For him —he answered bluntly—. He turned down two agencies before agreeing to come to Chicago. With Ethan around, this unit is safer.
Erin tilted her head, crossing her arms.
—And here I thought I was your favorite.
Hank let out a short breath, almost a laugh.
—You are —he admitted—. But he might like you more than the job… and that's a risk I'm not willing to take.
The silence that followed said more than anything else.
In a corner, Ethan was resting after the work. He noticed her gaze and gave her an open smile.
Erin's heart skipped a beat.
She looked away immediately and went back to her seat.
A couple of hours later.
—Jin, give us some good news.
At the sound of Hank's voice over the earpiece, Ethan quickly scanned the surroundings. Ten minutes earlier, Jin had located the target vehicle in the city's traffic monitoring system.
The team moved out immediately. At Hank's request, the four of them got into their vehicles and headed for the marked location.
The explanation was that it would make the pursuit easier, but Erin's look was full of suspicion.
—I've got eyes on it! —Jin's urgent voice crackled—. The target vehicle is heading west on 76th Street and is entering an alley, moving toward 77th.
Ethan immediately activated the hidden police lights, which flashed an instant blue along the side of the windshield and in several points across the rear of the vehicle.
He floored the accelerator, and the Chevrolet shot down the road like a beast.
The location Jin had mentioned wasn't far.
A gray Dodge appeared coming the opposite way, its police lights on as well.
Erin was coming straight at him, at full speed.
—Ah!
With a sharp turn of the wheel, the Chevrolet SUV jumped the curb, creating a dramatic scene that sent several pedestrians scrambling out of the way.
He braked hard and stopped precisely at the entrance to the alley.
The gray Dodge followed immediately, flanking him at the edge of the narrow passage.
Seeing a black Ford minivan approaching fast in the distance, Ethan got out of the vehicle, drew his weapon, and positioned himself behind the SUV.
—I've got Brandon Collins boxed in.
Erin dropped the radio and ran to take position beside him. Both aimed steadily at the Ford minivan.
—Chicago Police! —Ethan shouted—. Brandon, stop the car!
Just as he expected, the minivan slammed on the brakes.
But the driver reacted fast: a sharp movement of the arm, and the vehicle shot backward at even greater speed.
—¡Bang!
Ethan fired without hesitation, but the distance was too great. The bullet grazed the tires, kicking up a cloud of dust and concrete.
—Turn around.
Erin holstered her weapon immediately, pressed the earpiece button, and ran back to her car.
—Brandon's heading back toward 76th Street.
—Copy that! —Antonio replied over the channel.
Ethan threw the vehicle into reverse.
As Erin opened a gap for him, the gray Dodge tore into the alley at full speed, trash flying in its wake. Pulling off the curb, the vehicle roared forward and made a violent right turn at the next intersection.
Hank's Cadillac SUV appeared from another street, accelerating with purpose.
—I've got him in sight.
The flashing blue lights gave the car an eerie halo.
—Beep, beep, beep!
Ethan ignored every traffic law, laying on the horn, weaving and passing cars at high speed.
Drivers moved aside, not daring to block his path.
He quickly caught up to Hank. The two units moved like synchronized beasts, left and right, while Brandon's Ford minivan finally came into their line of sight.
Erin's gray Dodge closed the formation, tightening the distance. A block ahead, a black Lincoln burst out of a cross street with its blue lights on.
Antonio yanked the wheel, and the Lincoln lunged straight toward the Ford.
Surrounded by four patrol cars, Brandon panicked and began driving erratically.
—¡Bang!
A passing garbage truck had no time to react and slammed violently into the front of the Ford minivan. Shards of glass exploded outward, glittering like a rain of crystals under the sun.
The truck shuddered and veered onto the sidewalk, stopping just a few meters from a wall. The Ford minivan spun on itself, skidded several yards, and finally came to a stop.
The screech of brakes echoed through the air.
The patrol cars closed in, forming a circle around the crash.
The team members jumped out immediately.
—Sir, are you okay?
When Erin saw the garbage truck driver collapse to the ground, she pressed the radio.
—Emergency! We need an ambulance near 76th and Tenth.
Ethan, gun in hand, moved forward through the broken glass.
The fuel tank was damaged, and the air reeked strongly of gasoline.
When he reached the Ford minivan, he lowered his weapon. Antonio approached from the opposite side; they exchanged a look and shook their heads. Brandon Collins's head had gone through the windshield. His eyes were closed, his body motionless.
No seat belt… the outcome was obvious.
Ignoring the body, they moved to the rear of the vehicle.
At that moment, Erin and Hank arrived as well.
Ethan and Antonio grabbed the tailgate handles, while Hank and Erin stepped back a few paces and raised their weapons.
—¡Chirrriiic!
The frame was warped, but with a combined pull, the tailgate gave way with a metallic groan and opened.
At the sight inside, Hank clenched his teeth.
Ethan took a step back, only to see that the trunk was empty. Frustrated, he holstered his weapon. After all that, they had hit another dead end.
One of the culprits was dead, and there was no sign of the girls.
—Search the driver's seat.
Hank wasn't about to give up. He put on a pair of disposable gloves. Ethan and Erin took up patrol positions, keeping order at the scene. A high-speed chase followed by a crash always drew attention. Curiosity knew no bounds, and several bystanders had already stopped.
—Back up.
—Step away from the crime scene.
After several shouts and warnings, the area was finally secured.
Minutes later, the ambulance arrived. The paramedics removed Brandon Collins's body, revealing the massive hole in the windshield, a silent wound that spoke for itself.
Hank checked the dead man's wallet. He frowned when he found something out of place. Without a word, he placed it in an evidence bag and sealed it carefully.
—He was carrying only a nine-millimeter pistol and a burner phone —he reported flatly.
The team regrouped a few steps away.
Erin stepped forward, her face tense, jaw clenched.
—The more time we waste, the lower the chances they're still alive —she said, holding back her anger—. We need to move now.
—Trust me —Antonio replied, planting his hands on his hips—. We all want the same thing.
—Easy.
Hank clenched his fists, breathing deeply.
—Anger won't solve anything. Erin, Antonio, take the phone back to the station. Have Jin run the call logs.
Then he looked at Ethan and gave him a thumbs-up.
—You're coming with me. Get in my car.
—Where are you going? —Erin asked, crossing her arms as she brushed hair from her face.
—To see an old acquaintance.
Hank was already walking toward his vehicle.
—I found something interesting in the wallet. I think I know someone in his family.
—If we can't talk to the kid —he added—, we'll talk to an adult.
Half an hour later, two SUVs pulled over along the roadside in front of an old American bar. Ethan lit a cigarette, opened the door, and adjusted his jacket before heading toward Hank's Cadillac.
—You know the Collins family? —he asked.
—I know certain people from the underworld… enough.
Hank took Ethan's cigarette and watched the bar in the distance.
—The last name rang a bell. I confirmed it when I saw the photo in the wallet.
—Gavin Collins —he continued—. Italian. He runs a crew into robbery and cigarette smuggling. He'd never gotten into the drug business before.
—Mob? —Ethan asked.
He exhaled smoke, narrowing his eyes.
—No. Those days are long gone. They're small fish trying to survive.
Hank got out of the car.
—But he's not a nobody. This bar is his. Most of the customers work for him or with him. He usually spends his afternoons here.
—If anyone knows where Sean Collins is, it's him —Hank said, crunching through the snow—. Those kids are watched closely. No one would dare help them without his permission.
—But it's family. Do you think he'll talk? —Ethan replied, crushing the cigarette butt—
—I've played cards with him a couple of times, but I'm not sure he'll be happy after his nephew died.
—So he pays protection?
—Yeah, something like that —Hank admitted—. My code is simple: this world isn't black and white. It's made of gray. I keep the peace in Chicago… my way. We can't kill or lock them all up. Only those who cross the line get a bullet in the head. With the rest, I keep the balance.
Ethan nodded, a faint smile tightening his face.
—Understood. Then I know how to move.
And in that moment, he understood.
Now he knew why Hank had brought him.
Ethan wasn't there to ask questions or negotiate for hours. He was the muscle. The final backup. If the conversation went sideways, he could carry the weight… or become convincingly persuasive when needed.
—¡Clang!
The pub door burst open, making the cans stacked above the frame rattle.
Five or six people occupied the place. The bartender watched cautiously from behind the counter.
Badges hung visibly from their belts. Holsters peeked out from under thick jackets.
—Be careful —Hank murmured.
At the back, near the pool table, a gray-haired man with a weathered face and deep dark circles was playing against a tall, bald, muscular guy.
Ethan scanned the room: no cameras.
—Gavin Collins —Hank greeted, approaching—
—Voight!
Gavin looked up, calmly chalking the tip of his cue.
—I don't have time for you. I'm busy.
—I don't think so.
Hank grabbed a wad of cash from the table and tossed it at the bald man.
—You won. Get lost.
The bills fluttered down. The man looked at Gavin, confused.
Ethan stepped up to the cue rack. He picked one. The weight was perfect.
—This morning I had two nephews —Gavin said without emotion—. Now I've only got one left.
—You know why? —Hank asked, leaning against the bar—. Your nephew was using college girls as mules to move cocaine from Mexico. And when we went to catch him, he tried to run. You know the rules as well as I do. So don't expect apologies.
Gavin slowly waved the cue.
—I've got nothing to say to you right now. I'm going to see my sister. She's devastated.
—So get the fuck out of my bar, or I'll have you carried out in a fucking bag.
The bar fell silent when Ethan stepped forward.
He rested the cue against the floor calmly, as if weighing it.
—Hey —he said—. Mind if we play a game?
Gavin Collins didn't even bother hiding his contempt. He looked up with a mocking sneer.
—You? —he spat—. Do you even know how much people bet on this table?
Hank took a cue from the rack. His shoulders were tense, ready.
—A thousand dollars a game.
Ethan pulled the money from the inside pocket of his jacket and laid it on the table, bill by bill, with irritating precision.
—Just one —he said—. The last one. You in?
Gavin laughed and looked at his people.
—You hear that? This kid wants to give me money.
Laughter erupted around the table. Someone slapped the bar. Someone else whistled.
The table clearly favored Gavin. He had only two balls left before the black eight. He leaned in, planted his left hand on the felt, lined up the cue.
—I see no reason to refuse.
Ethan circled the table with slow, almost lazy steps. His eyes, however, were sharp… malicious.
The move was lightning-fast. He lifted his knee and snapped the cue in half with a dry crack. The wood splintered, leaving a jagged, dangerous edge.
—¡Bang!
But it wasn't a ball that took the hit.
It was flesh.
The sharpened end of the cue pierced Gavin's palm with a wet, sickening crunch, then buried itself into the pool table.
The scream filled the bar.
—¡AAAHHH!
The cry sliced through the air.
Ethan held the cue in place for another second, impassive, as blood began to pour out, soaking the green felt.
Then he let go.
In the same motion, he lifted his jacket and drew the Beretta. The steel gleamed under the yellow lights.
—Don't move or I'll blow his brains out. —he ordered.
The laughter died instantly.
The bartender raised his hands, slowly pulling them away from beneath the counter.
At the same time, Hank flipped his cue and smashed it into the bald man's stomach beside Gavin.
—Shit!
The man doubled over with a groan. A gun slipped from his clothes and hit the floor.
Hank stomped on it, pinning it to the ground, then threw a hard punch to the man's head. He dropped to his knees.
Gavin was still bent over the table, teeth clenched, sweat mixing with blood.
Ethan stepped closer.
He grabbed the cue embedded in Gavin's hand and twisted it slightly, tearing the flesh even more.
—Tell me —he said quietly—, where is your nephew?
The blood flowed harder.
—Go to hell! —Gavin spat, looking up with pure hatred.
Hank picked up the Colt from the floor and stepped in beside him. Without hesitation, he shoved the barrel into Gavin's mouth.
—Listen carefully —he said—. Whether those girls live depends on you. Because if they die, your sister will be burying both her sons tonight.
The cold metal made Gavin tremble.
Hank pressed a little harder.
—You've got three seconds to tell us where he is.
Silence.
—One.
Gavin's breathing turned erratic.
—Two.
The entire bar seemed to hold its breath.