It was his nightmare come to life. It was the thing he'd sworn he would never permit. It was the reason he never took the same route to Clio's home, always making detours and looping back, always alert to any potential tail, but it hadn't been enough, all of his precautions were for nowt, because the Sheriff had a gun to Clio's head—
He didn't precisely remember standing and crossing the room, but there he was now, by the door, pocketing Alan's car keys, scrabbling for a pen and notepaper with his free hand. His heart was pounding in his chest, fit to break free of his ribs.
"Right," he said, fighting to keep his voice blandly neutral. "I'll want to talk to her first." He needed to hear her voice, needed to hear from her own mouth that she was alive.