“Get back,” she warns, her voice like a second blade. Her eyes drill into Regan’s. “Give Penn your cell phone. If you don’t, I’m going to lay open his windpipe and sever his carotid.”

Regan looks to Brody for guidance.

“I’ll paint this fucking floor with his blood,” Caitlin promises.

When Royal starts to speak, Caitlin slices his neck above the jugular. A dark rivulet of blood rolls down to his shirt collar. “The phone, moron,” she says, tucking her head behind Royal’s for protection. “Do you recognize this blade, Brody? The handle says ‘A Lady’s Best Friend.’ Sound familiar?”

The old man looks almost hypnotized by her words.

“Nobody’s giving you a phone,” Brody rasps, his eyes regaining focus and confidence. “Randall, put your gun to the mayor’s head.”

Regan presses the barrel of his Glock against my right temple.

“Count to ten, then blow his brains out.”

Caitlin’s jaw is set tight with purpose, but I see doubt in her eyes. Even if Regan can’t see the same, I sense that she’s already lost the initiative. At least she tried—

“I’m counting to five,” Caitlin snaps, before Regan even starts counting. “Then it’s hog-killing time. ONE—”

“What do I do?” Regan cries, his Glock scraping against my temple.

For the first time I see fear in Brody’s eyes. He knows there’s nothing more dangerous than a cornered animal.

“Give him your phone!” Caitlin screams. “And your gun. TWO!”

Blood rolls steadily down Royal’s neck.

Turning my head slightly to the right, I say, “Give me the gun, man.”

Regan’s eyes are filled with indecision. He jumps at the sound of a closing door.

Caitlin whips her head around Brody’s, her eyes wild with suspicion. To my right, the van crew has slipped back into the basement. Probably drawn from upstairs by the screaming. Caitlin curses and drags Brody backward, into the corner shooting station. Crew Cut heads for the firing range door, while the older man takes a pistol from his belt and moves cautiously closer to Caitlin, angling for a shot.

“Watch that guy!” I tell her, pointing at the man making for the door.

“THREE!” Caitlin cries, her eyes jittery. “FOUR—”

“Stop!” Brody screams. “Put down your guns! Give Cage the phone. Stay out of there, Dwayne!”

The Glock’s barrel falls away from my temple.

Caitlin’s eyes flick back and forth, trying to read every intention. As Regan digs in his pocket for his cell phone, Brody sags with relief, then cracks his elbow into Caitlin’s ribs and tries to wrench himself away. With a cry she rips the razor upward, spraying blood—and then they are two, not one.