Gabriel used the interval to remove the barricade of furniture from the entrance hall. Then he placed his ear against the door and listened to the tack-hammer clatter of her heels along the uncarpeted hall. It was a good door, solid and thick, enough to slow a bullet but not to stop one. The woman knocked lightly upon it, as though she suspected children were sleeping within. “Are you alone?” asked Gabriel in French. “Yes,” she replied. “Do you have a gun?” “No.” “Do you know what will happen if I find a gun on you?” “The deal is off.” Gabriel opened the door a few inches with the chain still in place. “Put your hand through,” he said. The woman hesitated for a moment and then obeyed. Her hand was long and pale. She wore a single ring, a band of woven silver, and there was a small tattoo of the sun on the webbing between her thumb and forefinger.
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