MALCOLM'S POV
Malcolm dragged the chair into the back room and shut the door with his heel.
Smith twisted against the ropes, but Malcolm pulled him to the center of the room before he could brace his boots against anything. One hand was still free. Malcolm had left it that way because a man with one free hand kept trying to protect himself, and that made every choice show on his face.
Smith breathed through his mouth. Blood from his nose had run down his vest. His eyes moved to the knife at Malcolm's belt, then to the door, then back to Malcolm.
"I told you about the tracker," Smith said. "That's all I know."
Malcolm took out the knife.
Smith stopped pulling.
"I haven't practiced what I learned in Langley in years," Malcolm said. "You're going to help me remember."
Smith swallowed. "Go to hell."
