“He used gel in his hair,” Evandro said. He held a hand to his lips as we reached the bathroom, midway down the center hall, and motioned for me to stop.

I did.

He’d shaved the goatee and the hair peeking out from under the cap brim was dyed a honey blond. His colored contacts were a faded gray, and I assumed the inch of sideburns by each ear were fake, since he didn’t have them when I saw him last.

“Turn around,” he whispered. “Slowly.”

From the bedroom I could hear Angie sigh. “Phil, really, I’m very tired.”

She hadn’t heard the walkie-talkie. Fuck.

I turned around as Evandro placed the flat edge of the stiletto to my face and allowed it to slide with the skin as my head turned away. I felt the point skip across the back of my neck and then bite into the hollow space under my right ear, in the gap between my skull and jaw.

“You fuck with me,” he whispered in my ear, “and this point comes out through your nose. Take small steps.”

“Phillip,” Angie said. “Please…”

The bedroom had two doorways. One fronted the hall, the other, six feet beyond, led into the kitchen. We were four feet from the first doorway when Evandro pressed the stiletto point into my skin to stop me. “Ssh,” he whispered. “Ssh.”

“No,” Angie said and her voice sounded weary. “No, Phil, I don’t hate you. You’re a good man.”

“I was twelve feet away out there,” Evandro whispered. “You and your partner and poor Officer Dunn chatting about securing the house against me, and I’m crouched in the neighbor’s hedge. I could smell you from there, Patrick.”

I felt a small popping sensation as the stiletto point broke the skin at the edge of my jaw like a pin.

I couldn’t see my options. If I tried for an elbow to Evandro’s chest, which would be the first thing he’d expect, there was still more than a fifty percent chance he’d be able to shove the knife through my brain anyway. All other possibilities—fist to the groin, foot brought down hard on his instep, sudden pivot to my left or right—carried the same likelihood of success. One of his hands held the knife, the other the gun, and both weapons dug into my body.

“If you’d just call back in the morning,” Angie said, “we’ll talk then.”

“Or not,” Evandro whispered. He nudged me forward.

At the edge of the doorway, he suddenly jerked the gun from my side. The point of the knife left my ear and dug into the back of my head where my spinal column and the base of my skull met. He spun in front of the doorway with my body blocking his.

Instead of standing by the bed where I’d left her, Angie was gone. The phone lay off the hook in the center of the bed, and I could hear Evandro’s breath quicken as he craned his head over my shoulder to get a better look.