Beatrice.
My eye was still pressed against the peephole when Gerald touched my shoulder.
I jumped, biting back a scream.
"Let me answer it," he whispered.
"No—"
But he was already moving toward the door, his face calm and easy. Like we had nothing to hide. Like we were just normal people answering a normal knock.
I stepped back, my hand sliding behind me to touch the gun tucked into my waistband. The metal was cold against my skin. Real. Ready if I needed it.
Gerald unlocked the door and pulled it open.
The policeman stood there, bigger up close than he'd looked through the peephole. Broad shoulders. Strong jaw. Dark eyes that seemed to catalog everything in one quick sweep.
"Good afternoon," he said in Spanish, his accent pure Panama City. "I'm Officer Mendez. I live two doors do
