Sorry, Miss Steele. This won't take long." Sawyer holds both hands up in a defensive gesture. "Taylor and the guys are just coming into the apartment now."
Oh. I feel so impotent. Standing stock-still, I listen avidly for the slightest sound, but all I hear is my aggravated breathing. It's loud and shallow, my scalp prickles, my mouth is dry, and I feel faint. Please, let Christian be okay, I pray silently.
I have no idea how much time passes, and still we hear nothing. Surely no sound is good - there are no gunshots. I begin pacing around the table in the foyer and examine the paintings on the walls to distract myself.
I've never really looked at them before: all figurative paintings, all religious - the Madonna and child, all sixteen of them. How odd?