After Kilburn smashed Ryland’s hand twice into a cabinet, the knife dropped to the ground with a thud. Kilburn punched wildly, missing with his left fist but smashing his right into Ryland’s nose, from which blood spurted on contact. Ryland screamed again. Ryland swung his casted arm like a bat, hitting Kilburn in the head and knocking him off balance.

Ryland dove for the knife, but Cohen lunged for his waist and tackled him with his free arm before Ryland could reach it.

Kilburn recovered his footing and jumped over the other two bodies to grab the knife. He spun and kneeled over Ryland, raising the blade above his head like a dagger. “You monster,” he growled. His hand twitched.

Cohen rose to his feet. With his good hand, he gently grabbed Kilburn’s extended wrist.

Lopez stared down at Kilburn. “Graham, he’s not worth it,” she urged.

The knife held firm for a moment, but then Cohen let go and Kilburn’s arm dropped to his side.

The back door to the kitchen exploded off the hinges.

Uniformed men armed with assault rifles stormed in through the door. Moments later more men flooded in from the living room, until the FBI assault team filled the kitchen.

All guns trained on the bleeding Ryland.

69 - Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

69

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Sitting at the round table in Caffé Quattro, a one-handed Cohen struggled with the plate of fettuccine pescatore in front of him. To his right, Lopez was faring no better with her pasta.

Kilburn raised his wineglass and laughed. “Look at the pair of you. Even your disabilities match.” He pointed from Cohen’s wrapped left wrist to Lopez’s right shoulder where the bulky bandages, covering the deep laceration made by Ryland’s knife, poked out from underneath one side of her shirt. “I’ve never felt more like a third wheel in my life.”

Lopez grinned playfully. “Graham, if it will make you feel more at home, we’re perfectly willing to break your arm.”

“Thanks. I’m doing all right with this.” Kilburn rubbed the golf ball—sized bruise at the angle of his jaw where Ryland had hit him with his cast.

Cohen looked at Lopez with exasperated admiration. “Lina, I still don’t understand why you had to fight,” he said. “With the FBI surrounding the house, Ryland wasn’t going anywhere. They would’ve taken him down before you got three steps out of the house.”

Lopez shrugged. “I just couldn’t listen to any more of that self-righteous psychopath.” She grinned and bit her lip. Her eyes danced. “Besides, how many other chances will I ever get to elbow him where I did?”

They shared a laugh. “According to Ed Franklin, Ryland has clammed up in custody,” Cohen said.

“Good thing the FBI taped our conversation,” Kilburn pointed out.

“Yeah,” Cohen said. “Silence won’t help him much after that confession.”