My right arm wasn’t going to be throwing any knives, though. I gritted my teeth to tug my handgun out of its holster. Hugging my forearm against my ribs gave me enough support to hold the weapon steady. My other hand tugged a knife from my bandolier, then I was stepping around the mercenary’s body.
No time to waste bracing myself.
I almost leaped through the doorway.
The office was sybaritic even by my standards, even illuminated by those weak LED emergency lights near the floor. A U-shaped desk supported gigantic but sleek monitors, partially hidden by two cheap briefcases. The couch and chairs looked like they’d suck you down and never let you leave.
More magnificent than that imagined view, though?
Kit.
She stood before the desk, legs spread, automatic in a textbook two-handed gri
