I spun slowly and came face-to-face with William. There was no one behind him. Not that I expected there to be (though I"d hoped).
The smile was snide, the expression patronizing. “Your colleagues are partaking of refreshments.”
The man was not going to fluster me. I eyed him disdainfully before asking, “What did you want us to find out about Carmie?”
He removed a Glock 27 from the back of his pants. Though small and light, the .40-caliber weapon was powerful and accurate, and I was certain the man—unlike me—knew how to use a g*n with infinitesimal precision.
“If you kill me, they"ll know.” With a snort (damn, I really had to stop those), I crossed my arms.
He sniggered. “I wouldn"t do it here.”
“I"ll scream,” I informed him coldly, for what it was worth, which was less than nothing.
