With each turn of the knob her body tensed a degree further until she was as tightly wound as a coiled metal spring. “Hi, David,” Clint said. “Hey, Clint. How’s it going?” “Can’t complain. How’s everything with you?” “Pretty good.” Tricia’s heart raced, pounding forcefully against her breastbone. When she became lightheaded she realized if she didn’t do something, she was either going to hyperventilate or pass out. That would be guaranteed to make Mr. Policeman suspicious. She focused on her breathing, concentrating on inhaling and exhaling in a slow, deep, rhythmic pattern. She studied David’s face for any sign of misgiving or alertness and found none. Nor was there anything in his words or tone of voice that should cause her concern. The conversation between the two men was casual, friendly. Relax. He doesn’t look like he’s about to whip out his gun and order you to exit the vehicle and spread ’em. “I know you were a little preoccupied back there.”
