I felt something hard and metallic shoved against the back of my skull, a knee pressed into the small of my back, and a woman's voice snarled,
"Drop the gun, or I blow your head off."
Call me crazy, but I'm not big on defiance when I've got a gun rammed against my skull. I carefully set the .38 in my left hand down and moved my fingers away from it.
"Hands behind your back. Do it," snarled the woman.
I did it. I felt the cold metal of the handcuffs around my wrists, heard the ratcheting sound of the cuffs closing around them. The knee lifted
off of my back, and my attacker shoved me over with one leg, snapped on a flashlight, and shone it in my eyes.
"Ryan?" she said.
I blinked and squinted against the light. I recognized the voice now.
"Hi, Ericson. This is going to be one of those conversations, isn't it?"
"You jerk," Ericson said, her voice harsh.
