"Conrad shook his head and sat back in the seat. "You've gotta be kidding me. This is a joke, right? Robin put you up to this. It's some kind of dare." I'm telling the truth, Conrad." Why me? I'm no one special," he said. "I'm just Conrad from Q.A."She picked up her cup and sipped. It was a little too hot, still, but the cup felt good in her hands. "I don't know. It's not rational." So you're saying you're obsessed with me. Is this some kind of a proposition?" No, just the opposite... I want to make it stop." Well... you've told me." He was looking into her eyes. He took a sip from his cup, still holding her glance.She looked down.He set his cup back on the saucer. "Prove it." She looked up at him, a question in her eyes. "Prove it," he repeated. His voice was low, quiet.Her hands started to shake. "Conrad, no... I..." She looked over at the barista. She was doing something with the espresso machine, paying Hannah no attention."Prove it."Hannah drew in a shaky breath. Her hand. “Clear.”“Clear.”“Police! Get on the ground!”“Don’t move! Don’t move!”Tom cleared one side of the room he was entering and turned to the other with his Mossberg Shotgun raised. A skinhead with a swastika on his forehead and many more Aryan Brotherhood tattoos on his body was just standing up from the couch he’d been sitting on when the police had broken down his front door. He’d been reaching for an Uzi that sat on the coffee table in front of him. Another inch of movement towards it and Thomas would have to repaint the wall behind the guy.The skinhead’s eyes flicked between the machine pistol and Thomas and back to the gun. Thomas hadn’t even had time to draw breath to shout in all this time before the Nazi-loving redneck made his decision and sprinted straight at the window.Another crash, of glass this time, and the man was straight through the window pane and running towards the rear of the house.“We’ve got a runner!” Thomas yelled before setting off after him.His shotgun tucked.
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