I looked at the broken man sweating in his ruined tuxedo.

“You gave me a name, Robert,” I said softly, the adrenaline fading, exhaustion pulling me down toward the dark. “The Army gave me a life.”

Through the glass of the ballroom doors, the red and blue lights of NYPD cruisers began painting the hallway walls.

“And the FBI will give you a cell,” Sterling finished. He nodded to his detail. “Open the doors. Let the police in.”

The brass bolts clicked open.