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understand the situation. Not that this situation seems open to a lot of interpretation.
    â€œTake the money,” Gun Man is ordering Jacket, since the bag has made its way back to the teller nearest them and is sitting right there next to him. “These nice people are going to let us walk out of here so I don’t have to shoot you.”
    â€œScrew you,” Jacket says. Which strikes Zoe as yet another veryobviously not smart thing to say.
    â€œIt’s this simple,” Gun Man says. “Cooperate—hope everyone cooperates—and you live. I’ll release you outside.”
    â€œNo, you won’t,” Jacket argues. He repeats the thought to the guard, as though to make sure the guard understands. “He’s never going to let me go. He’s never going to let any of us go. There are too many people who could identify him. So you might as well just shoot him now.”
    First no video witness, then no people witnesses. This is the same conclusion Zoe reached when the man shot out the cameras. Still, she can’t help clutching at hope. You don’t know for a fact that he’s going to kill you , she thinks at Jacket. Better the chance of maybe being killed later than definitely being killed now.
    Which is when she has the thought: Is he stupid or suicidal?
    Jacket refuses to take the bag that the one teller is trying to hand him, reaching up from behind her hiding place.
    The guard seems to decide that Zoe, standing so close, is in the way, and he shoves her; but she trips over her own feet and instead of ending up farther away, ends up on her knees on the floor.
    Jacket is looking directly at Gun Man and tells the guard, “Take the shot.”
    â€œEven if,” Gun Man hastily points out, “this clown cop could get a shot off before I could, even if he puts the bullet in my brain and I’m dead in an instant, in that instant my finger will tighten on the trigger, and you’re dead.”
    â€œI’m dead in any case,” Jacket tells the guard, and Zoe wishes he wouldn’t be so sure of that. “Or he’d prove his good intentions by putting his gun down now.”
    Gun Man proves his bad intentions by not moving.
    Jacket repeats to the guard, “Take the shot.”
    The guard isn’t the only one whose hand is shaking. Gun Man sees his options dwindling as Jacket refuses to cooperate, and Zoe knows this makes him even more dangerous.
    Say it , Zoe tells herself. Say it now.
    She needs to risk drawing attention. She crosses her arms, hugging herself. All she needs to do is to say, “Playback,” which will make all of this go away.
    She falters when she sees Jacket brace himself. For what? Does he have a plan? Does he expect the gunman will see the hopelessness of getting away and back down, or does Jacket think he can overpower him? Will he dodge or duck or drop to his knees in the hope of avoiding Gun Man’s bullet while giving the guard a clear shot? Or is he preparing himself to die? She’s looking directly into his blue eyes and can’t begin to guess what’s going on behind them as he says, “Take the damn shot.”
    And the guard does.
    Whether conscious revenge or muscle reflex, the bank robber squeezes his trigger, too.
    And whatever Jacket’s plan was—unless it was to die—it doesn’t work.
    Which brings everything back to the beginning, leaving Zoe spattered in the blood of both the thief and the customer she’d almost had time to grow to like. Not to mention bits of bone. And what she very fervently tries to convince herself could not possibly really be pieces of brain matter.
    That’s how the story starts.

CHAPTER 3
    S OME OF THE BANK CUSTOMERS — BOTH THOSE WHO FROZE into please-please-please-don’t-notice-me statues and those who dove behind chairs and tables—now take the opportunity to make a break for the door. Zoe is vaguely aware of the thudding of their