"Yeah, you're a runner. I get it Ethan," Bree said softly, her calm, soothing voice barely rising above the wind that danced along the rooftop. "That is your name isn't it? Ethan?" So very slowly, she lowered the muzzle of her Glock, not holstering it with both her partners still cut off in the chase.

"But you're run out of road here, and... Well, you know you won't be getting off this roof through me." He didn't strike her as the suicidal type - far from it actually, with his breezy bravado, the warmth in his voice. Nothing in his demeanor spelled 'desperation' to Bree, but best to play things safe, make no assumptions about this strange man who'd haunted her nightmares for months with his dead buddy Victor. 

"It doesn't have to be hard, you know. Come with me now, and I guarantee you'll be treated fairly. Don't go quietly at all. It'd be nice if you didn't actually - you know very well I want to talk with you. Heh. I don't think I've wanted anything more since the first day we met." 

[i]'But for a full night's sleep.'[/i] She didn't say the words out loud of course, but the thought made her smile, however grim and hard the gesture seemed.