Chapter 35: A Flutter in the Heart

Hearing the woman's words, Bronson's brows tightened, and Matthews turned pale. Both hurriedly apologized and squeezed their way toward the center of the crowd.

At the heart of the gathering, everyone was clustered around a television. It had been showing footage from Veranis’s earlier press conference, but for some reason, it had now switched to a live breaking news report from New York.

On the screen, Lynette, with her deep red hair, stood solemnly before the camera, microphone in hand, providing viewers with an account of the case and describing the current situation at the woodland cabin.

When Bronson saw Roan standing in the corner of the villa negotiating with the perpetrator, gun in hand, his face darkened instantly. He turned and hissed to Matthews in a low voice:

“Didn’t you assign someone to tail Roan? How did he find the suspect so quickly? And what’s with this reporter?”

Matthews’ eyelids twitched; his mouth was dry. He had no idea how to respond to Bronson’s interrogation. After a moment, he could only reply in a low voice, “I’ll make a call right now!”

“Hmph, hurry!” Bronson’s face was stern as he noticed the complex looks from those around them. He waved impatiently for Matthews to leave at once.

Sweating, Matthews pushed his way out of the crowd and hurried to a corner of the room, dialing his subordinate, Jock. He demanded an explanation, only to learn that Jock hadn’t even reached the villa yet and would need at least another ten minutes.

Even more bewildering, Jock, still driving, responded to Matthews’ angry questioning with confusion, “Sir, weren’t you the one who told me to notify the reporter?”

Matthews: “...Fu—k!”

—

Outside the villa, Darren’s face was livid as he watched the female reporter speaking fluently into the camera. He frantically scrolled through his contacts, hoping to find someone with connections at New York News who could get the reporter to stop broadcasting immediately.

He had no desire for his wife’s abduction to become the talk of the city. Who knew what rumors would circulate afterward about what happened to Sabina during the kidnapping?

At the same time, Lacey was calling Augustus.

“What did you say?” Upon hearing that a reporter was now broadcasting live from the crime scene, Augustus’s brows shot up. Veranis, who overheard, immediately grabbed the remote and switched the conference room TV to the New York News channel.

On the screen, Roan’s striking profile appeared in stark clarity.

“Damn it!” Augustus’s lips trembled with anxiety at the thought that the perpetrator might be provoked by the reporter and harm the hostage. He ordered Lacey to interrupt the TV station’s broadcast at once, but Veranis raised a hand to stop him.

Augustus turned to her, full of confusion.

“If we cut off the live broadcast now, it will severely damage the FBI’s image.”

Augustus’s eyes widened. If Roan failed this mission and the hostage was lost, Roan’s career would be finished!

And SWAT wouldn’t reach the woodland cabin for over thirty minutes. Who knew if Roan could stall the perpetrator for that long?

Sitting nearby, Mona had the same thought and shot to her feet, about to speak.

“Trust your subordinate, Augustus.”

On the screen, Roan stood in the corner, Glock 18 in hand, clothed in standard FBI gear that he somehow made look like high fashion. Veranis’s heart skipped, but she quickly regained her composure and spoke in a resonant voice:

“Pay close attention. Does Roan look nervous to you right now?”

Augustus and Mona turned their eyes to the television. Not only did Roan not seem anxious, but he was even chatting and laughing with the suspect.

Though the distance made it impossible to hear their words, the message was clear.

Augustus: “...”

Mona: “...”

“Trust Roan Greenwood,” Veranis said, shifting her legs and fixing her gaze on Roan’s image. “He will find a way to deal with the perpetrator and rescue the hostage.”

Augustus exhaled deeply and signaled Lacey to keep an eye on Darren, making sure he did nothing rash, before hanging up and fixing his eyes on the television.

Recalling Roan’s behavior during the last arrest, Mona hesitated, biting her lip before sitting back down, silently watching Roan on the screen. She chose to trust him.

But considering the consequences of failure... Mona sat in contemplation for a long time before finally pulling out her phone and finding a number she plainly disliked.

—

Outside the wooden villa, at the corner of the first floor.

Roan gripped his Glock 18, chatting with the perpetrator, Fraser, who was holed up in the second-floor bedroom.

He had already coaxed the suspect’s name from him.

It wasn’t that Roan didn’t want to find another way upstairs and try to apprehend Fraser; it was that Fraser, barricaded in the upstairs room, had made it clear that if he heard Roan move from his position, he’d ignite the gasoline and take everyone to hell with him.

“All right, Fraser, I won’t move,” Roan replied, all the while scanning the area for any possible way to access the second floor from outside and keeping the conversation going:

“But could you let me hear Sabina’s voice? I need to confirm she’s safe!”

In his previous life, an old assassin had taught Roan the art of negotiation when a mission had failed and he was cornered.

Though Roan’s role was somewhat different now—he was the one laying the siege, not trapped himself—the negotiation process was much the same.

It was always about patient discussion, step by step, inching forward in talks, all the while waiting for an unguarded moment to strike.

“Sabina is perfectly safe!” Fraser’s voice was less agitated now, slightly calmer. After Roan’s request, he shouted from the bedroom:

“As long as you meet my demands, I swear I won’t hurt her!”

“Fraser, I can’t just take your word for Sabina’s safety.” Roan shook his head, making it clear that such reassurances weren’t enough. “I only have one request: remove the tape from Sabina’s mouth and let her speak for herself, all right?”

He paused for a few seconds, then added, “Fraser, believe me, Sabina’s safety is the foundation for our continued negotiation. You don’t want us to stop talking and storm the bedroom, do you?”

After a brief silence from the upstairs room, Fraser finally agreed, “Okay! I’ll let Sabina speak, but she’s not leaving my side, understood?”

“No problem! I just need to hear her voice,” Roan replied, readily accepting Fraser’s terms.

A tearing sound echoed as the tape was removed. A few moments later, a trembling female voice sounded from the second-floor bedroom:

“Agent, I’m Sabina. I’m still safe.”

“Okay, Sabina.”

Hearing her, Roan licked his lips and called out, “Take a deep breath now, try to stay calm! My negotiations with Mr. Fraser are going well, and we both agree—neither of us wants to see you get hurt, all right?”

“No problem, Agent.” Sabina’s second reply was already much steadier.

“Good.”

With the hostage’s safety confirmed, Roan let out a breath of relief. But when he turned and saw that there was no way to reach the second floor from outside, his brows knitted in frustration.