Thomas felt his heart stop.

'Again,' the guard said without even looking at him. He pawed through Frankie's clothes with a big black hand. Thomas took two steps back, then once more stepped across the threshold. He heard the second chirp more with his skin than his ears.

Still not making eye contact, the guard simply murmured, 'Arms out,' then began waving his wand along the contours of his body. Thomas could swear he was being beaten with sticks, though at no point did the man touch him. The wand followed the X of his form, starting with his right arm, then moving down to his right ankle. The guard then panned up along the outside of his left leg. The wand let out a wiry whistle as it passed over the left pocket of his blazer.

Eye contact at last, though the man looked far more bored than concerned. 'Your pocket, sir,' he said. 'Do you have anything in your pocket?'

Breathless and immobile, Thomas said, 'Not that I know of…'

The guard reached in with thick fingers, withdrew what Thomas mistook for a handkerchief, then recognized as Sam's white cotton panties.

The guard smiled and scowled at once.

'You dawwg,' Mia drawled.

Then a bullet rolled from the panty-liner, made a perfect, tuning-fork ping against the tiled floor.

The guard frowned at it for a moment, raised hard eyes…

Mia's foot took him in the jaw. He staggered back, uncomprehending, utterly unprepared for the second foot, which sent him toppling. His keys jangled, then all was silent.

Thomas gaped at his neighbor, who rolled his head from his left to his right shoulder.

'A little piece of advice,' Mia said, kneeling next to the unconscious guard. 'If you're a man, learn how to kick ass before you put on a dress.' He held out his hand, snapped his fingers impatiently.

'What?' Thomas asked, scarcely able to breathe.

'The duct tape,' Mia said. 'Remember?'

Numb, Thomas pawed his empty right pocket, looked to his neighbor helplessly. He'd forgotten the tape at the cottage. Cursing, Mia grabbed the panties, brandished them as though making a statement about his priorities. 'Boxers are too big to stuff into pockets,' he said. 'C'mon. We have to get this lug out of sight. If anyone's monitoring those cameras'—he nodded at an abstract point above and behind Thomas—'we might be fucked already.'

They tucked the guard in an out-of-the-way bathroom.

'It's not like the movies,' Thomas said, standing over the slumped form. 'He needs to see a doctor as soon as possible. He could be reall—'

'I don't know about you,' his neighbor said, 'but I came to bet on Frankie.'

The most Thomas could do was nod. Control was slipping.