Karen Vick was tired.

Exhausted, even.

Why did these things always have to happen the day after the baby was up all night with cholic? Couldn't the lowlifes who held stores hostage at least wait until she got a decent night sleep?

The negotiator was on the phone with someone inside the store. She tried to hear what he was saying, but his voice was low and what little she could have heard was being drowned out by a very loud motorcycle approaching.

She glanced behind her as Shawn Spencer drove up.

How did he do it? She wondered. How could he possibly know already? It hadn't even been on the scanner yet.

"Mr. Spencer," she called, motioning him over.

He grinned and waved at her.

"Hi, Chief."

"Listen. I know how concerned you must be, but there's nothing you can do here. Please, just go home."

His smile immediately faded.

"Concerned?" He repeated. "About what?"

"You don't know?"

"Know what?"

"Why are you here?"

He shrugged that carefree, never-had-a-real-job-never-wanted-one shrug that always irritated her just a little.

"I don't know. I was…led by a presence. But I can't see a face yet…"

"That would be your friend, Mr. Guster."

"Gus?"

He suddenly turned pale, any trace of jocularity gone in an instant.

"Gus is in there?"

"Yes. I'm sorry, Mr. Spencer, but please—"

She was interrupted by the negotiator.

"Chief, we have to move fast," he said.

"Why? What's going on? What are his demands?"

"I can't get any out of him yet. He's scared, in over his head. He just wants out."

"Then give him an out!"

"I did. I tried. He's not biting."

"Then why do we have to move fast?"

"Because," he replied, eyeing the still stunned and silent Shawn cautiously. "Because he's already shot one hostage."