The man in the center laughed. A wet, ugly sound that scraped against the high ceiling. He looked at her like a child holding a loaded gun. Amused. Slightly annoyed.
"Put the kitchen toy down, sweetheart," he said. He took a step off the elevator mat. His heavy combat boot left a muddy print on the pristine white marble.
Jane did not blink. She did not scream. Her mind disconnected from the terror, retreating into a cold, quiet room in her head where only numbers lived. Three feet of distance. A heavy blade. A man who assumed she was prey.
He reached for her shoulder.
Jane stepped inside his reach. She did not swing wildly. She grabbed the thick canvas strap of his tactical vest with her left hand, using his own forward momentum as leverage. She brought the steel blade up and pulled it
