Her fingers slide.
It’s a decision of one second.
I squat again, hold myself to the door, grasp her wrist, and pull.
She is a lightweight, probably not more than 120 lbs.
I pull her up, push myself off the door, take two steps back, just enough for her knees to slide onto the floor.
She sinks to the ground and lies panting on the floor. Her arm is trembling underneath my grip.
I don’t let go of her wrist. Instead, I bring it onto her back and grab the handcuffs from my belt.
“Avery Zayne,” I say. “You are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent; anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed to you.”
With my last word, I click the handcuffs closed.
Pride and pure joy spread through me as I caught Avery Zayne.
I caught her.
Finally.
A wide grin spreads on my face as I kneel next to her. I take in the view and the feeling for one second. After all those years of hunting her, I got her.I. Got. Her.
I grab my phone and call Mike.
“Got the intruder, taking her to interrogation one. Please call in Rachel and Linda from the press; this will be the headline of the month.”
I hang up, put my phone into my pocket, and then grab Avery Zayne by the handcuffs to lift her up.
“Please don’t,” she says as I lift her. “Not the press.”
“This is not Make-A-Wish,” I say harshly.
“Please,” she says so pleadingly that it sounds as if she were about to cry.
“Why wouldn’t I?” I ask her.
“Because—“ she starts, hesitates, twitches with her head, rolls back her shoulders, and falls silent.
Her bodily reaction is extensive, rooted quite emotionally.
We get to interrogation one, only to find the room has been shut down due to the lockdown. My credentials aren’t working.
“Walk,” I tell her, and push her in front of me.
I take her to my office.
“Sit,” I say and place her on a chair, remove one handcuff, pull her hands to the front, around the chair’s armrest, and close it around her other wrists again.
She is cooperative, something I take with a grain of salt, because I know she is tricky.
She stares at the handcuffs, and I watch her closely. I am prepared for her to try everything possible to free herself.
“What did you steal from the evidence hold?” I ask her.
She remains silent.
