Without looking at him, she holds up a finger to silence Jack. No. After everything, you get to wait.

"Forgive me," she says in a voice that does not want forgiving at all, at least not for this, "I prefer to make my own arrangements."

Translation: she doesn't trust you as far as she could throw you, and especially not as far as your safehouse, you shady bastard.

Now, and only now, does she look at Jack again.

She wants to think it's something -- an apology. A comment that displays some remorse. Something. But she doesn't expect it will be.

"What could you have to say?"

Tenenbaum's voice is cold, of course. But underneath the ice, there's something else: a deep, sorrowful disappointment.