Shane’s police cruiser was parked outside his house. It was five till eleven, meaning he’d be appearing any time for duty.

I took up position, crouched low behind the trunk, where I could blend into the shadow cast by the Crown Vic in the pool of streetlight.

My hands were cold, even with gloves. I blew on my fingers to keep them warm; I couldn’t afford for them to be sluggish. I was going to get only one shot at this. I would either win, or I wouldn’t.

My heart pounded. I felt a little dizzy and it suddenly occurred to me I hadn’t eaten in at least twelve hours. Too late now. Front door opened. Patio light came on. Shane appeared.

His wife, Tina, stood behind him in a fluffy pink bathrobe. Quick kiss to the cheek, sending her man off for duty. I felt a pang. I squashed it.

Shane came down the first step, then the second. Door closed behind him, Tina not waiting for the full departure.

I released the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding and started the countdown in my head.

Shane descended all the steps, crossing the driveway, keys jingling in his hand. Arriving at his cruiser, inserting the key in the lock, twisting, popping open the driver-side door.

I sprung out from behind the cruiser and rammed my Glock .40 into the side of his neck.

“One word and you’re dead.”

Shane remained silent.

I took his duty weapon. Then we both climbed into his police cruiser.

I made him sit in the back, away from the radio and the instrument panel. I took the driver’s seat, the sliding security panel open between us. I kept the Glock on this side of the bulletproof barrier, away from Shane’s lunging reach, while pointing squarely on target. Normally, officers aimed for the subject’s chest—the largest mass. Given that Shane was already wearing body armor, I trained on the solid block of his head.

At my command, he passed me his cellphone, his duty belt, then his pager. I piled it all in the passenger’s seat, helping myself to the metal bracelets, which I then passed back and had him place around his own wrists.

Subject secured, I pulled my gaze from him long enough to start the car engine. I could feel his body tense, preparing for some kind of action.

“Don’t be stupid,” I said crisply. “I owe you, remember?” I gestured to my battered face. He sagged again, cuffed hands flopping back down onto his lap.

Car engine roared to life. If Shane’s wife happened to glance out the window, she would see her husband warming up his cruiser while checking in with dispatch, maybe tending to a few messages.