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unholy screams of rage that raised the hairs on the back of her neck and along her forearms.
    To her dying day, Caroline would never forget those bestial sounds coming out of a human being’s mouth. It was terrifying, like being in the room with a wild animal.
    Heart in her mouth, she watched as he dragged little Manuel out by the hair to the middle of the room, stood him up, and held the knife to his throat.
    What horrified her most was that the little boy didn’t make a sound. White-faced and trembling, he stood as still as a soldier—even when that meaty fist pulled his hair so hard the scalp raised a little.
    And Caroline knew with a sudden swift certainty that this was not the first time this had happened to Manuel. Not the first time he was terrorized and tormented by this human beast.
    But by God it would be the last.
    A deep calmness settled in her. That child was not leaving these premises with that monster. She’d die first.
    “Where’s that worthless bitch?” Manuel’s stepfather screamed. He was purple-faced, sweat streaming from his temples, dripping off his cheeks. The animal smell intensified, a sickening stench. “Where’s your fucking mom?”
    Little Manuel’s eyes were closed and his lips were moving. He was praying.
    “Huh?” The man shook his stepson like a rag doll. “Where the fuck is she?”
    “In the hospital,” Manuel whispered.
    “You fucking liar! You lie, just like she lies. There’s nothing wrong with the bitch! All she does is lie about me!” He whipped that big black knife back up, held it to Manuel’s slender throat.
    Jack had put her through drills in her training. One of the drills had been observation. He’d suddenly ask her in a restaurant how many waiters there were in a room. How many lamps in a hotel room. Where the back exit was in a coffee shop. How many chairs in the bank lobby.
    For a period he drilled her so hard she started observing and memorizing in exasperation, even when he wasn’t there, because he was there in her head.
    And now it paid off, because out of the corner of her eye she saw a slender black rod slide over the counter across the street at Sylvie’s. A rifle barrel! And another rod slid over the balustrade of the rooftop of Sylvie’s building. Another sniper.
    The cavalry had truly arrived.
    She’d learned enough of shooting from Jack to know that the expert marksmen that were behind those rifles wouldn’t miss across twenty yards of street. They couldn’t shoot what they couldn’t see, though, and the monster was in the short side of her L-shaped shop, hidden by a wall. They could hear his bellows but they couldn’t see him.
    She could wait it out. Sooner or later, the snipers would get him. But if it was later, he could harm Manuel. Kill him with a flick of that meaty wrist.
    Already he was working himself up into a greater state of rage, spittle at the edges of his mouth. He jerked in his agitation and a thin line of red appeared on Manuel’s neck, slowly starting to drip blood.
    It was terrifying to see little Manuel’s calm expression. He’d seen this man beat up his mother countless times. His brown eyes lifted to the roof—to heaven—and his white lips moved more quickly.
    He was preparing to die. This small, innocent child expected to die at the hands of this monster.
    “Hey!” Caroline stood up, waved her hands. Across the street, through a break in the snow, she saw Sylvie’s head above the counter. Sylvie’s eyes opened wide in shock.
    But Caroline knew what she was doing. She had a plan and it all depended on the skill and nerve of the police snipers. She trusted them. Jack was friends with more or less everyone on the force and he said they were all good guys and good cops.
    They’d better be, because she was just about to put her life in their hands.
    “Hey!” she yelled again. “Let that boy go, you son of a bitch!”
    His eyes widened. Clearly, no one talked to him like that. At least, no woman.
    There was