14

 

 

She fell asleep in the car, her PPC falling out of her limp hand onto her lap. Reaching over, Roarke slid it into her pocket, then lowered her seat back.

She worried him. No matter how completely he understood she did what she had to, pushed herself and others because she had no choice, she worried him.

He knew how thin her defenses were when she worked herself into exhaustion.

At least she’d get a few hours’ sleep in her own bed, he thought as he drove them through the gates. And he’d see she ate a decent breakfast in the morning.

He, too, did what he must, and the most important must for him was Eve.

He would have carried her in, and straight up to bed, but she stirred.

“I’m okay,” she mumbled as she pushed herself up to sitting. “I’ve got it.”

“Sleep,” he said as he slid an arm around her on the way to the door.

“Yeah, I’m mostly already there. I need to be up at six. No, five- thirty’s better. I want to clear some things, go into Central, and be ready when they transport Mackie.”

“Five-thirty it is then.”

“I can count on you for that.” She leaned her head toward his shoulder, realized she could have slept standing up. “Does it have to be oatmeal? You’re already thinking about what you’re going to feed me in the morning.”

“Pancakes.” Swamped in love, he brushed a kiss over her hair. “And bacon and berries.”

“And lots and lots of coffee.”

He ended up carrying her the rest of the way, pulling off her boots as she dragged off her coat. Together they got her undressed. She managed a “Thanks” as she burrowed under, and was dead asleep before he slipped in beside her, wrapped an arm around her.

And let himself join her.

E

—

ve stood on the circle of white ice with its spreading pools of blood. The wind cut like razors. In the deep, dark night, the

blood read black against the white, and the bodies it flowed from were a pale and sickly gray.

She faced the girl, the girl with smooth skin and black dreads and bold green eyes.

And what she felt in that moment, looking into those bold green eyes, was a kind of pity. One she had to shove away, even in dreams.

“I’m better than you,” Willow said with a glinting smile. “At killing unarmed civilians? Sure, I’ll give you that.”

“Better than you all the way. I know what I am. I like what I am. And I’m the best at what I am. But you? You pretend to be what you’re not.”

“I’m a cop. I don’t have to pretend.” “You’re a killer, same as me.”

“We’re not even close to the same.” Yet something shuddered through her at the words—Willow’s, her own. “You kill for sport, for jollies. You kill the defenseless and the innocent. Because you can— until I stop you.”

“It’s the kill that counts, and I already have more racked up than you. Reasons don’t matter.”

“Yeah, they do. Who’s running and hiding? Not me.”

“I’m right here.” As the wind whipped, Willow opened her arms. “And you hide every day, run and hide every day from who you are, deep down.”

In the dark night, the red light began to pulse, washing over the white ice. “You did that to your own father.”

Eve looked down at Richard Troy’s body, at the blood seeping from more than a dozen wounds.

“I did that, and I’d do it again.” “Because you’re a killer.” “Because he was a monster.”

“Who says you get to choose and I don’t? People hurt my father, now they’re dead.”

“Your father’s a selfish, twisted son of a bitch.”

Willow smiled again. “Yours, too, but my father loves me. He taught me, helped make me what I am. So did yours.”

“I made me what I am, despite him. How did she hurt your father?” Eve pointed at the dead girl in red.

“I didn’t like her. Show-off. The kind who thinks they’re better than me. Like you do. When I’m done, I’ll come back for you.”

“When I’m done, you little freak, you’ll live in a concrete cage. You and your old man.”

Willow threw back her head and laughed. “You’d kill me if you could, because that’s who you are. But you won’t find me. I listened to my father, bitch. I learned, I worked, and I’m not finished. Before I’m done, I’ll check off every name on my list, then I’ll kill everyone you care about. I’ll save you for last.”

Willow raised her assault rifle. Eve drew her weapon. “And then,” Willow said.

They fired together.

Eve woke with a jolt, Roarke’s arms around her. “Shh, baby, it’s all right. Just a dream.”

“She said we’re the same, but we’re not. We’re not the same.” “All right now. You’re cold. Let me light the fire.”

But she wrapped around him. “We’re not the same. Sick bastard fathers don’t make us the same. But she won’t stop and neither will I. What does that mean?”

“It means she’s as sick as her father. It means you’ll do your job. You’ll do whatever you can to protect others, even while you stand for the dead, for those she’s killed. Not the same, darling Eve.

Opposites.”

“We could have been the same. We could have.” She pressed her face into his shoulder, a shoulder that was always there when she needed it most. “How much is you?” She drew back, framed his face with her hands. Even in the dark she could see the wild, wonderful blue of his eyes. “I love you.”

“A ghrá.” He kissed her softly. “My only.”

“I love you,” she said again, pouring herself into the kiss. “You saved me.”

“Each other.” He laid her back, covered her with his body. “We saved each other.”

She needed him, the tangible act of loving. Mouth on mouth, hands on flesh, heart beating to heart.

Not the cold, the dark, not the ugly pulse of red light and blood black against white. But warmth and beauty and passion, and all the brilliance he’d brought to her life simply by loving her.

Whatever she’d been, whatever she’d become, she was more because he loved her.

So strong, he thought, and so vulnerable. The two aspects of her in constant conflict. But that pull and tug made her what she was.

And what she was, here and now, was his. Only his.

So he soothed her with long, gentle strokes. And aroused her with depthless kisses. And took the gift of her for himself, saturated himself in the feel of those long limbs, those tough muscles under soft skin.

The pulse in her throat, in her wrists, the beat, beat, beat of her heart, all that life twined with his.

She needed this, just this, more than sleep, more than food, more even than breath at that moment. Needed his body joined with hers. A testament to what she was, what he was. What they were.

Away from death, away from brutality, away from the cold.

She opened for him, took him in, gave herself utterly to that joining. Rising and falling together, pleasure building on pleasure until nothing else existed.

And reaching, reaching for that moment, that exquisite moment when they emptied all they were into the other.

Filled with him, she wept.

“What’s this, what’s this?” Undone, he gathered her close again, tried to kiss away the tears.

“I don’t know.” Trembling, she held tight.

So he shifted, cradled her, rocked her, and still felt helpless. “It’s stupid. Who am I crying for?”

“You’re worn out, that’s all. Just worn out, worn down.”

It was more, she knew it, but couldn’t pinpoint it. The tears, so hot, so strong, came from something, fell for something.

“I’m okay. Sorry. I’m okay.”

“I’m going to get you a soother.”

“No, no, I have to be up in a couple hours, right? What time is it?” Even as she asked, her communicator signaled.

She bolted up, cheeks still wet, scrambled for the device still in the pocket of the pants she’d worn the day before.

“Lights on ten percent,” Roarke ordered. “Block video.” Eve sucked in a breath. “Dallas.”

“Dispatch, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. Report to Madison Square Garden, Thirty-First and Seventh. Multiple victims.”

“Acknowledged. Contact Peabody, Detective Delia, Lowenbaum, Lieutenant, ah, Mitchell. I’m on my way.”

Roarke tossed her clothes, grabbed his own.

“It has to be the lawyer,” Eve said as she dressed. “Unless she’s gone off script, it’s the lawyer we couldn’t find. It’s after two in the goddamn morning. How did she find him?”

“Concert at Madison Square,” Roarke told her. “Newly rebuilt. I expect it let out near to two. Christ Jesus, the place would have been packed. Eve, Mavis was one of the headliners.”

Her hand jerked as she hooked on her weapon harness, then she forced herself to move, to just keep moving. Mavis wouldn’t have exited with the crowd. It wouldn’t be Mavis among the fallen.

I’ll kill everyone you care about.

“We had tickets.”

She pulled herself back as she dragged on boots. “What? Tickets, to this thing?”

“I gave them to Summerset.”

He moved so fast, so efficiently, tossing Eve her coat, grabbing his own. But his eyes, she saw now that his eyes were stricken.

“You drive,” she said as they both bolted out of the room. “I’ll try to contact both of them.”

Everyone you care about, she thought again, snapping Mavis’s name into her ’link while they rushed down the stairs.

 

Yo! Can’t chat ’cause I’m doing something mag! But I’ll catch you later. Fill me in on what’s the what. Cha!

 

“Mavis, tag me back. It’s urgent. If you’re still at Madison Square, stay inside. Stay inside.”

Even as she jumped into the car, she tried Summerset.

 

I’m unavailable at the moment. please leave your name, a contact number, and a brief message. I’ll return your call as soon as possible.

 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. They’re all right. They’re both fine.” She wanted to try Leonardo, but realized if he’d stayed home with the baby, she’d just terrify him.

No point, no point, she told herself as Roarke bulleted through the gates.

Instead she set the dash ’link on a loop, tagging them each in turn while she punched in Baxter, and hit the sirens.

He didn’t block video, looked wild-eyed and exhausted at the same time, showed a shadow of beard and hair in messy sleep tuffs.

“Baxter.”

“She hit Madison Square—big concert. I’m on my way. I need you to contact the squad. I want Jenkinson and Reineke on scene. The rest report to Central unless I tell you different.”

“Done.”

She cut him off, tagged Feeney.

“I’m on my way,” he said the minute he came on. “McNab filled me in. ETA, maybe fifteen. Do you know how many?”

“No, we’re five minutes out. I need a location for Mavis’s and Summerset’s ’links. They were both at this concert.”

“Christ. I’ll work it. Goddamn it.”

He cut her off. Eve did the only thing she could think of. She touched Roarke’s hand, squeezed briefly. Then prepared to deal with what came next.

“As soon as we find them, I need you, Feeney, McNab working that program. We want the nest. She won’t be there, but we want the nest.”

“I think he was taking Ivanna—Ivanna Liski. He said something about having dinner with her and broadening his musical horizons with this bloody concert. And I . . . I told him he should take Ivanna backstage to meet Mavis. He should see about arranging that.”

Delicate blonde, Eve thought, former ballerina—and former spy.

And maybe former flame of Summerset. “So it’s likely they were both inside when this hit. We’ll find them.”

Seventh Avenue was chaos. Roarke cut across Thirty-Fifth, snaking through other vehicles and barricades while lights glared and sirens screamed.

She’d been in this chaos before, when the Cassandra group had blown up the arena in its crazed quest to destroy New York landmarks. And now, rebuilt, renewed, reopened, that resilience had been used as a target by another killer.

Should she have realized it? Anticipated it?

She shoved those thoughts aside as she and Roarke leaped out of opposite doors.

“Wait. They won’t let you through, and I need my field kit.”

She grabbed it, yanked out her badge to clip it to her coat, before the two of them bulled their way through the clamoring crowds pressed to the police line.

“Lieutenant. Jesus, Lieutenant, we got a hell of a mess here.” “Hold the line, Officer, and start moving it back. I want this area

cleared back to Sixth on the east, and Eighth to the west—two blocks north and south. How many victims?”

“I can’t tell you, sir. We came in on crowd control. I heard up to twenty, but I can’t say for sure.”

She kept moving through an area alive with cops, with MTs, with weeping civilians. And, she saw as they neared the arena, with the dead and the injured.

Copters circled overhead—police and media—and on the street, on the sidewalk, cops and medics fought to help the injured, to shield the dead.

To hold order when another strike could come from anywhere.

The world flashed blue and red from the police car lights, roared full of the terrible sound of screaming, and stank with the copper smell of blood.

“Ah, Christ.” Because they were shoulder to shoulder she felt the shudder move through Roarke. “He’s there. Over there, helping the medics.”

She saw him, too, the bony frame, the shock of gray hair, those thin hands smeared with blood as he knelt by a woman bleeding from the side, from a gash along her temple.

Her own chest shook as they veered toward him.

“Are you hurt?” Roarke dropped down beside Summerset, gripped his arm. “Tell me if you’re hurt.”

“No, we were inside. Just coming out. Just . . . I heard the screams. I saw—I need to stop this bleeding.” His voice was clipped, cold, but when he looked up, Eve saw both horror and grief. “Mavis and Leonardo are fine. Inside, still inside. I sent Ivanna back in to them.”

The back of Eve’s eyes burned, the inside of her throat, too. She could only nod. Then on a deep breath, she crouched, looked Summerset in the eye. “Turn on your ’link.”

“What?”

“You need to turn your ’link back on, in case I need to contact you. I’m going to need to talk to you later, in depth, but right now, just turn on your ’link, and keep doing what you’re doing. You’re in good hands,” she told the bleeding woman, who stared at her with eyes glassy from shock. “Good hands,” she repeated and pushed to her feet.

She turned, sucked in a good, steady breath. “You—you,” she snapped, snagged two uniforms at random. “I want a detail escorting ambulances and medivans to this location. I want a clear path for the medicals, in and out. Nothing, repeat, nothing and no one gets beyond Sixth, beyond Eighth, beyond Thirty-Sixth, beyond Thirty- Second who is not NYPSD or medical. Move it, do it. Now. And you.”

She whirled on two more. “You think gawking’s helping these people? Get inside, establish some order. No one comes out until I clear it. Move your asses.”

“The sergeant said to hold,” one began, and Eve sliced him with one sharp look, tapped her badge.

“What does this say?” “‘Lieutenant.’ Sir.”

“The lieutenant just gave you an order.” She moved quickly toward an MT she recognized. “Can we move some of the minor injuries inside?”

“We could,” the MT said as she treated what appeared to be a broken leg. “But they’ve blocked it off.”

“I’m unblocking it. If you can spare a couple medics, they can handle the minor injuries inside. We’re working on clearing a path for transport.”

“Say hallelujah.”

“Do you know how many?”

The MT shook her head. “I counted a dozen dead, twice that injured. Could be more.”

“Dallas.”

She glanced over, shocked to see Berenski limping toward her, one eye swollen and bruised.

“How bad are you?”

“Just got banged up some in the panic. Came with a couple buddies from the lab. We’re all okay, but . . . People running, screaming, trampling each other trying to get out. They thought it was going to blow again.”

His breath short, his eyes a little glazed as he looked around. “Christ, Dallas, fucking Christ.”

“Do you need a medic?”

“No. No. I got some basic medical training, but I don’t know if I’ve got enough to do anything here.”

“There’s Feeney coming through. You’re with him and EDD. Work the program.”

“Yeah, I can do that. I can do that,” he repeated, limping toward Feeney.

No way to preserve the scene, she thought, and she’d done what she could to secure the area for now. So she took another breath, cleared everything else out of her head, and looked.

Wait for the concert to end—probably being streamed, probably a way to watch it on screen or at least get updates.

Was a target here? A name from the list? Or was this just a way to show how much you could do?

Doors open, people start streaming out. Did you wait? How long did you wait until you gave yourself the green?

She walked back to Summerset, noted he’d stopped the bleeding and was carefully tending the more superficial head wound.

“You’re drafted as an expert consultant, medical.” “I—”

“You see that MT over there?” She gestured. “She’s solid. You’re going to work with her to arrange for the minor injuries to be taken inside. I want them comfortable but contained. One of my people will talk to them, and they’ll be released when cleared. More severely injured will be triaged where they are, and transported asap to a medical facility. I need to tend to the dead, you get that? You can help tend to the living.”

“Yes, all right.”

“I need a running list of names of anyone you treat or move.

Understand?” “Of course.”

“I’ll tap you when I need you otherwise.”

She saw Roarke and Feeney going inside, with Berenski limping behind them.

“See that guy, the one with a head like an egg, limping?” “Yes.”

“When you have time, look him over. He got banged up. He’ll be with Roarke and Feeney.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

“If you see Mavis, tell her . . .” “That is also understood.”

“Okay.” Shifting her field kit, she walked away to begin tending to the dead.

S

—

he’d identified two, had begun her work on a third when Peabody rushed to her.

“I’m sorry. Jesus, Dallas, we couldn’t get through. It’s damn near a riot behind the barricades. Whitney called out every cop in the city, or it seems like it, to get people off the streets. Do you want me to start on IDs?”

“We’ve got the target here. Rothstein, Jonah, age thirty-eight, attorney. This is going to be the lawyer we couldn’t nail down. This gut shot wound? He’d have bled out before anyone could do anything for him, but he’d have had a few minutes of agony first. He tried to crawl—see the blood smears. And see his legs. Gut shot, then she put two more strikes into him, one in each leg. It’s the first I’ve seen where she hit more than once. This is the target.”

Eve sat back on her heels. “He comes out, moving with the crowd, probably juiced from the concert. Maybe he’s with somebody—he’s divorced—and she’s watching for him. This time, yeah, I say this time, she puts him down first. Wouldn’t want to lose him in the crowd when the panic starts. Then she just picks at random. That’s not for cover now, no need for cover now. That’s for fun.

“Contact Morris.”

“I already did. He’s on his way. He might have beaten us here.” “I haven’t seen him. We need this victim transported first. Have

Rothstein bagged and tagged, tagged priority.”

“I’ll coordinate with Morris. Dallas, do you know how many dead?”

Eve got to her feet. Medicals continued to triage the wounded, but many had been taken inside, the uninjured were cleared and released.

It looked, she thought, like a battlefield after combat, bodies strewn over the cold and bloody pavement. She could count fourteen down, beyond help. There could be more.

“Let’s take it one at a time.”

In the end it would be sixteen dead on scene, two others who died of their wounds within hours. Another eighty-four injured.

They would weigh on her, every one, as in the cold, cold hour before dawn she left the dead to go inside. To do what came next.

She looked around the huge sweep of the lobby, the marble floors under the brilliance of the lights. Crossed to Jenkinson.

“Fill me in,” she said.

“Conflicting reports. Most people don’t know what the hell. The bulk of them never got outside, got banged up, knocked down, trampled in here. Somebody started yelling about a bomb and that lit the fricking fuse.”

Face grim and tired, he, too, looked around the lobby area, cleared of wounded now, but with smears of blood still on the floor, and scattered belongings dropped and forgotten in the panic.

“Same deal outside, from what we’re getting. Conflictings on the first strike, but I got a security guard who kept his head, and he’s firm the first couple went down around one-fifty, one-fifty-five. Say ten minutes after people began crowding out.

After rubbing the back of his neck, Jenkinson checked his notes. “A male, black topcoat, blond medium-length hair—that’s who the guard says took the first hit. Then a female, black or gray coat, red hair, but he says the first victim took a second hit, and maybe three hits. He’s not sure if it was after the second vic went down or the third. Things started to get crazy.”

“Was this guy ever on the job?”

“Funny you should ask. Put in twenty-five, most of it in Queens.” “He’s still got it. First vic, male, black coat, blond hair, was the

lawyer. Rothstein, Jonah. Three hits. Keep the guard on tap in case he remembers more details. DBs are in the morgue or on the way. Still some injured being treated outside, but it’s under control. I need this sector blocked off until we clear it all. You and Reineke can switch off with Carmichael and Santiago, get some crib time.”

“I hear that. You need more of us down here, Loo, we’re good for it. Took a booster.” He scrubbed his face. “Hate those bastards.”

“I hear that. A little crib time, because you won’t get much more today. Where’s EDD set up?”

It took her a full five minutes at a brisk stride to make it to the impressive security area where her geek team was working. She glanced at the screens, tried to block out the e-chatter, and saw the beams striking the Seventh Avenue area of Madison Square from Lexington and from Third. The Murray Hill area, she noted.

“We’re narrowing it,” Feeney told her, “or Lowenbaum and Berenski are.”

Dickhead, she thought, watching him hunched over a monitor with Lowenbaum.

“If she’s using the same weapon as her asshole father had, we think we got it pegged down to a couple blocks.” Berenski rolled his shoulders, swiveled on his stool. “You add the weapon factors in, range, velocity, calculate full power because why the hell not, and—”

“You can save the formula for now, and just give me the most likelies. Maybe later I’ll have you give me a lesson on the rest.”

He blinked, rubbed his excuse for a moustache. “Yeah, sure.

Could do that.”

“We’re leaning here.” Roarke highlighted three buildings. “Two on Lex, one on Third.”

“She likes the East Side,” Eve noted. “Knows that area best.” “Apparently. Having our weapons experts add to the program has

narrowed it considerably. These three are all low security, rental units or flops.”

“We’ll start there. Can you apply the same to the Times Square hit?”

“Doing that,” McNab said. “We’ll be able to give you most likelies, with these factors.”

“Peabody, send the results to Baxter and Trueheart, get them and Uniform Carmichael and his picks working them.” She checked the time. “Be ready to leave for Central when I tag you.”

She had one more stop to make, wound her way back down, asked directions, and made her way backstage. It was unlikely she’d gather any information that would add to the manhunt. But she couldn’t leave, just couldn’t leave, without seeing the people she cared about.

The people the dream Willow had threatened to kill.

She heard Nadine before she saw her, the voice thick with fatigue.

She sat on the floor, back to the wall, outside one of the dressing rooms. Face and hair unsurprisingly still camera ready, a bold blue leather jacket over a sleek black skin suit.

She sat hip-to-hip with a man with purple-streaked black hair that curled madly past the collar of a black T-shirt and a studded,

sleeveless black vest. He wore black jeans, scuffed boots that laced up his calves. He rivaled McNab for ear hoops.

He met her eyes—his a heavy-lidded, sharp crystal blue. His mouth curved a little, deepening the creases in his cheeks.

“Here’s your cop pal, Lois.”

“What? Oh, Dallas.” Nadine shoved to her feet. “What do you know? What can you tell me? I’m cued in to the station, and we need more details.”

Best, probably best, Eve thought, that she hadn’t known Nadine was here. Hadn’t had one more person to worry about.

“What do you know?” she countered. “What did you see? What did you hear? My job’s priority.”

“I didn’t see or hear a damn thing. I was down here, in Mavis’s dressing room, when security rushed in, said there was an incident. They won’t let us leave the area. Summerset’s friend was brought down. She’s in there with Mavis and Leonardo. Trina’s in there, too.”

Nadine gestured to the facing room with Mavis’s name emblazoned on it. “Come on, Dallas, spill. I’m having to feed things in crumbs to my producer.”

Eve just looked at Nadine’s companion. “Who are you?” Nadine let out a quick laugh. “Told you.”

“Refreshing,” he said. “I’m Jake Kincade.”

“That won’t click, either. Dallas, Jake’s a rock star, literally. Avenue A? His band’s been rocking the charts for about fifteen years.”

“Give or take. Doesn’t really apply right now, does it? Anyway.” He rose on long legs, stood about six-five in his boots, offered a hand. “I’d say nice to meet you, but well, hell.”

“How many dead?” Nadine insisted. “Will you confirm that? It matters, Dallas.”

“Yeah, it matters. Sixteen at this time. A couple more aren’t likely to make it, but sixteen confirmed dead on scene.”

“Jesus.” Jake stared down the corridor. “My band’s piled up in dressing rooms, and we’ve got roadies flopped out like puppies. They’re all safe. All of them are safe, but . . . I’ve got names of some people we got tickets for, about a dozen people. Can you check to see . . .”

Eve pulled out her notebook. “Give me the names.”

She checked as he reeled them off from memory.

“None of them are on the dead or seriously injured list. I don’t have all the names, yet, of minor injuries.”

“That’s good enough. More than. Thanks. They, hell, they won this contest, got to hang with us at rehearsal, come backstage before the performance.”

“It’s been eating at him that any of them got hurt,” Nadine said. “Or worse.”

“I’m going to clear it so you can go home, all of you. It may take about thirty to have someone come down, escort you out.”

“I’m not going anywhere without a one-on-one,” Nadine insisted. “They can do it by remote.”

“Go get ’em, Lois,” Jake murmured, and had Nadine shooting him a sparkling look.

“The city’s going to be waking up,” Nadine continued, checked her glittering wrist unit. “In fact is. People need to know, Dallas. It’s their city, and last night was important. Someone smeared that with a lot of blood. It’s your job to stop them. It’s mine to let people know, not only what happened here, but that you’re doing whatever it takes to stop them.”

“She’s good.” Jake hooked his thumbs in his front pockets. “She says you’re good, too.”

“I’ll give you five—it’s all I can spare,” Eve said before Nadine could protest. “But I need to . . .” She glanced toward Mavis’s dressing room door.

“I’ll get it set up.”

“I’m going to get the band up and moving.”

When Jake moved down the corridor, Eve turned to Nadine. “‘Lois’?”

“As in Lane, ace reporter for the Daily Planet. Superman, Dallas, you’ve probably heard of him.”

“Yeah, where is he now?” She opened the door quietly.

Inside, Leonardo slept in a chair, Mavis curled like a fanciful cat in his lap. Trina—likely there for hair and makeup—stretched out on the floor, a colorful rug. Eve recognized Summerset’s old friend Ivanna Liski, asleep on a sofa.

But her eyes returned to Mavis, hair a tumbled rainbow, pretty fairy face relaxed in sleep, with Leonardo’s big arms wrapped around her.

Because her eyes stung, her stomach jittered, Eve rested her head on the doorjamb, just let herself breathe.

In comfort, Nadine rubbed a hand on her back. “Whenever you’re ready.”

With a nod, Eve straightened, shut the door to give them a few more minutes. “Let’s get this done.”