But the man holding me didn’t move. He pressed the blade harder against my skin.

I felt a warm trickle of blood run down my neck.

Ryker’s finger tightened on the trigger.

The shadow of a tactical team appeared at the study doorway.

A red laser dot appeared on the chest of the man holding me.

Another laser dot appeared on Ryker’s forehead.

“Nobody move!” the FBI agent shouted.

The tension in the room was thick enough to cut.

The rain poured through the shattered window, soaking us all.

The gunman holding me tensed his muscles, preparing to strike.

I closed my eyes.

“I said drop the weapon!” the agent in the doorway repeated.

His voice was metallic, coming through a tactical headset.

Behind him, three more agents in heavy black armor moved into the room, their rifles raised.

They weren’t local cops.

They were the FBI’s Hostage Rescue Team.

“He’s a hostage taker,” Ryker said, his voice steady despite the red dot dancing on his forehead. “And the men on the terrace are mercenaries.”

One of Celeste’s men on the terrace fired a wild shot toward the door.