“Dad,” she whispered. “He knew the emergency code.”
That sentence hit Thomas harder than Ethan’s weapon.
Behind him, Frank opened the front door wider.
Three tactical officers entered in a controlled line, rifles angled safely downward and away from Rachel and Lucy, fingers outside trigger guards. They did not rush. They did not shout. They waited until Thomas had created distance between Ethan and the civilians.
Ethan saw them.
Then saw Thomas’s four-star shoulder boards.
Recognition finally entered his face.
Not of the man.
Of the authority.
His arrogance cracked.
Thomas looked down at Ethan’s closed fist.
A torn corner of red paper protruded between his fingers.
Thomas bent, forced the hand open, and retrieved the fragment.
Frank’s eyes shifted toward an overturned chair.