Amanda shimmied forward again and pinned one of the unopened envelopes with her bare foot, dragged it back with her as she headed toward the front door. It was awkward going, but she positioned the envelope by the front door, turned and flopped onto her side. She rubbed her head and face against the envelope, trying to smear some of the blood from her ear onto the surface. When she had made some suitably dramatic-looking streaks of bright red she got to her knees and sat down again, pushed the bloody envelope under the crack in the front door and onto the step just seconds before the men emerged from their conference in the bedroom.

“Have you decided if you’ll kill me or not?” Amanda asked.

“You really are one weird little bitch, aren’t you?” Jay shook his head, strode forward and grabbed a handful of Amanda’s hair. She spied the gun hanging by her face as he yanked her toward the living room.

“Because if you’ve decided to kill me, I’d advise strongly against it.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“Ow! That’s attached, you fucker!”

Jay shoved her onto the floor in the living room. Bran had walked to the glass doors and ripped the curtains closed, his face grave. Amanda sat on the floor, looking up at the man as he prepared to end her life.

“I know what you’re looking for,” Amanda said. “And I know where to find it.”