“Watch his hands!” another voice shouted in the background.

“I have his left arm,” a third voice said.

There was the distinct, metallic click of handcuffs closing.

The sound of a struggle subsided into heavy panting.

“Target is in custody,” Miller said.

“We have the fake passport and three different credit cards.”

“All of them are registered to aliases.”

Sullivan let out a long, slow breath.

“Copy that, Miller,” he said. “Bring him to the precinct.”

“Book him on felony evasion, identity theft, and attempted grand larceny.”

“We will add the domestic assault charges once we present to the grand jury.”

“Understood,” Miller said.

The radio went silent.

Sullivan turned back to me.

He looked tired, the deep lines around his eyes showing his age.

“It is over, Natalie,” he said.

“He is not going anywhere.”

I let my head fall back onto the pillow.

Tears of relief spilled over my cheeks, stinging the burned skin near my temple.

“Thank you,” I said.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Sullivan said, his tone remaining serious.

“This is just the beginning.”

“His mother’s lawyers are already filing motions.”