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Stretch was seething. “We know you didn’t go to the authorities. Mostly because, well, we are the authorities . But also because you’re a reporter—a good reporter from what I read. Good reporters won’t risk getting scooped. So you’ve obviously been keeping our arrangement quiet—at least while you’re writing the story. Unfortunately, it’s a safe bet someone else knows about the story. Maybe someone at one of the papers?”
    “We wanna know who you talked to at the paper,” Cue Ball remarked. “We wanna know who’s aware of the story and we want all your notes. Give us that and you get to walk away from this.”
    Cyrus had been sitting slouched on the sofa while they metaphorically pummeled him with the facts of his situation. He struggled to listen to their words. Paying attention to the sound of their voices would help keep the panic away and it might offer some slim chance of finding a away out of this mess alive. No story was worth his life.
    But hearing that last statement from Cue Ball, Cyrus was thrown for a loop—Shocked to the point he found it possible to push his panic aside for the moment. They were offering   a way out? Give up his notes and Gary at the Tribune and he could walk. Could it be that easy? Really?
    Hardly.
    It was an offer far too good to be true. Those notes were the only reason he was still breathing. That and the suspicion he may have talked with someone at the paper. If he gave up the notes he was a dead man. If he so much as mentioned Gary, Gary would be dead too. That flicker of hope quickly faded. There was no way out.
    Cue Ball looked at Stretch. “I told you, he’s not one to go the easy way.”
    “That’s okay,” Stretch said with a shrug. “It’s more fun when they won’t talk. Then we get to make em’ talk.”
    At this threat, rather than collapse entirely under the stress of the situation, Cyrus’s eyes cleared as if his mind had cut through the confusion and come to a decisive conclusion. He slowly pushed himself up from the couch. There was no need to make any fast moves. The two detectives were most certainly armed and he didn’t need to get himself shot before he could put the next stage of his plan in motion.
    Taking a moment, Cyrus looked at the pair of police officers. Starting to say something, he stopped before the words came. He began to pace slowly, back and forth before the massive picture window as he gathered his thoughts. The skyline was the last thing on his mind. The officers remained seated. Cyrus wasn’t a threat. They held all the cards and Cyrus knew it.
    “You got something to say?” Stretch questioned, puzzled at what was going through Cyrus’s mind. “Go ahead, spit it out.”
    Cyrus stopped pacing and looked back at both men. He gave an embarrassed half smile. “I know it’s crazy, but I’m standing here knowing I’m gonna die and all I keep thinking is, ‘I wish I’d made better coffee.’”
    Cue Ball cocked his head at the absurdity of the statement while Stretch just busted out laughing. The two men just stared at Cyrus. Cyrus just stood there, as if waiting for something to happen.
    The awkward moment stretched on, Cyrus waiting for something and the two detectives waiting for Cyrus. Finally Cyrus glanced at his watch. He looked back at the detectives. A look of concern had returned to Cyrus. Something had gone wrong. He looked back at his watch. Absentmindedly, he scratched at the center of his chest.
    Stretch laughed again, and rose to his feet. “So, right now you’re wondering what happened to your backup…”
    Cyrus’s head snapped around and his eyes met those of Stretch.
    Oh, shit.
    “That’s right. You used the GO word! You said ‘better coffee’ and when you did, the door was supposed to bust open and a SWAT team was supposed to come crashing in and arrest us.”
    Stretch scrunched up his face, leaned across the coffee table, and glared at Cyrus. “But, like I said, we are the cops! There’s no