She paused once more.

Now! Take her.

He started to pull the knife from his pocket.

But the bark of a siren cut through the air, coming from the other end of the alley. He glanced at it in shock.

And then he felt the gun muzzle touch the back of his head.

Agent Dance was shouting, “Raise your hands. Now!” Gripping his shoulder.

“But—”

“Now.”

She shoved the gun harder into his skull.

No, no, no! He let go of the knife and lifted his arms.

What was going on?

The police car skidded to a stop in front of them, another right behind it. Four huge cops jumped out.

No . . . Oh, no . . .

“On your face,” one of them ordered. “Do it!”

But he couldn’t move, he was so shocked.

Then Dance was stepping back as police officers surrounded him, pulling him to the ground.

“I didn’t do anything! I didn’t!”

“You!” one of the men cried. “On your belly—now.”

“But it’s cold, it’s dirty! And I haven’t done anything!”

They flung him to the hard ground. He grunted as the breath was knocked from his body.

It was just like with Sally Anne, all over again.

You, fat boy, don’t fucking move! Pervert! . . .

No, no, no!

Hands were all over him, grappling. He felt the pain as his arms were pulled taut behind him and cuffs were ratcheted on. He was searched, pockets turned inside out.

“Got an ID, got a knife.”

It was now, it was thirteen years ago, Vincent could hardly tell.

“I didn’t do anything! What’s this all about?”

One of the officers said to Agent Dance, “We heard you loud and clear. You didn’t need to go into the alley with him.”

“I was afraid he’d bolt. I wanted to stay with him as long as I could.”

What was going on? Vincent wondered. What did she mean?

Agent Dance glanced at the officer and nodded toward Vincent. “He was doing a good job until we got into the diner. Once we sat down I knew he was faking.”

“No, you’re crazy. I—”

She turned to Vincent. “Your accent and expressions were inconsistent and your body language told me you weren’t really having a conversation with me at all. You had another agenda, trying to manipulate me for some reason. . . . Which turned out to be getting me alone in the alley.”

She explained that when she’d paid the check she’d slipped her phone out of her pocket and hit REDIAL, calling an NYPD detective she’d been working with. She’d whispered briefly what she’d concluded and had him send officers to the area. She’d kept the phone line open, hidden under her notebook.

That’s why she was reciting the names of the streets out loud; she was giving them directions.

Vincent then looked at her hands. She caught his eye. And held up the pen she’d been writing with. “Yep. That’s my gun.”