“Drop the weapon!” a loud voice commanded from the porch.

Two federal agents appeared in the doorway, their rifles raised and aimed directly at Vanessa’s back.

“Drop it now!”

Vanessa froze, her shoulders tensing as she looked from the agents to Marcus, and then to me.

For a second, I thought she was going to pull the trigger anyway.

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.

Slowly, her fingers loosened, and the silver pistol clattered onto the hardwood floor, sliding a few inches toward the hearth.

One of the agents stepped forward quickly, kicking the gun aside while the other grabbed Vanessa’s arms, pulling them behind her back.

“Let go of me!” she screamed, twisting and kicking as the metal cuffs clicked around her wrists. “Do you know who my father is? He’ll have your jobs!”

“Richard Whitmore is already in custody down at the main gate, ma’clock,” the first agent said, his voice entirely professional.

He didn’t look at her face as he read her her rights from a small laminated card.