That's not an answer to her question, and she glances at the arm he's already insinuated in the doorway in faint alarm. She has no way of preventing him from coming in, now that the door's open. Perhaps if she didn't have one child in her arms and another in the room... but she does, and she can't jeopardize their safety.

Surely he wouldn't hurt a child...?

Bea lets out another grumble, this time because Greta's holding her too close. She readjusts her grip on the infant, stalling for time, thinking. Her phone is on the table. She can't reach it without leaving him free to enter. There's a foot-long breadknife in the kitchen, too, but there's no getting to any of it without him getting in.

So. Let him in. Pretend to cooperate. Get the phone. The Balladeer is probably in the Park, but if she calls him out of nowhere and he hears nothing but a tense conversation between her and a strange man, he'll come. She's fairly certain.

"If you must," she says, taking a step back. Then, pointedly, "You didn't answer my question."