"Because turning over a terrorist is the right thing to do." Griffith snaps angrily.
Estella makes an unladylike noise a bit like a scoff.
“You and your sort talking about the right thing to do. That’s bloody rich, that is.”
The tea kettle hisses angrily. She turns and takes it off the heat, setting it on a trivet with a temperamental thump.
“My Steve is no terrorist and even if I had the slightest clue where he was, wild horses wouldn’t drag it out of me. You’re wasting your time and mine. So if you’ll excuse my language, Agent, you can bugger off.”











