The man spreads his hands, slowly but calmly, not making a move, just a gesture of acceptance. “Is there any other kind?”

“And he’s a philosopher too,” I say. “Your name’s Finn, right? Just the one name, like Madonna?”

Finn chuckles. His eyes crinkle and his mouth opens, revealing his tongue lying behind his bright white teeth. “Susannah, you are an adult portion. And I’m enjoying this back and forth we’ve got going on here. But I’m kind of on a timetable, and we have a lot to talk about.”

“Busy evening?”

“Not as busy as you.” Finn’s eyes and smile are both pleasant. His eyes are hazel, shifting from green to blue depending on the light. “Following that truck from English Avenue all the way to the Chattahoochee? I thought we were going to Six Flags, maybe ride a roller-coaster. But then all those bad men in that warehouse … things got kinda dicey for a hot second.”

I stand very still, staring at Finn. That pleasant smile is still on his face, but now he has a look in his eye, a dark, gleeful malevolence, the look of a devil toying with you. “You were tailing me,” I say, making it a statement rather than a question.

“Lucky for you, too,” he says. “When you got pinched, I distracted everyone by shooting that gangbanger in the throat. Gave you a chance, and you took it and flew, girl. That was fun to watch.”

Dimly I register that Ethan is looking at me with serious questions on his mind. I have questions of my own. To stall for time so I can get a firmer grip on the situation, I ask, “What did you use, a silenced .22?”

He nods. “Good call. Yeah, I learned I was a pretty good shot in the Army. Among other things.” He looks directly at the pistol in my hands for the first time, then back at me. “Susannah, I don’t want to hurt you. I saved your life tonight. If I’d wanted to, I’d have let that milk-skinned redneck in his urban cowboy truck shoot you in the head. I could have done it myself when you found that cholo I tapped and then hid behind those crates. I wasn’t twenty feet away, on top of a crate looking down at you, and you had no idea.”

I shift on my feet, as if I need to steady myself in a strong crosswind. Finn is maneuvering me like he’s moving a pawn on a chess board. My throat threatens to close up, and I take a deep breath, clench my jaw and unclench it. I’m not a pawn. I’m a motherfucking queen.

“Why?” I ask.

“I wanted to see what you were capable of,” he says. “It’s always a good idea to know your opponent. Or your partner, depending.”