51
“Ms. Brennan,” he acknowledged.
My racing brain snagged on the incongruity of the tenor voice coming from his massive body. If he’d been wearing a suit rather than casual clothes, the jacket’s structured shoulders might have brushed both filthy sides of the hall. As it was, he simply blocked most of the light. And my way out.
“I think at this point, we might call each other by our first names,” I said. My arms hung relaxed by my sides, except where one hand still gripped my tiny flashlight, now illuminating the mess on the floor. “Did you come to finish the job?”
“Which job is that?” he asked. His face was shadowed, but I could tell by his artificially flat tone that I’d struck a nerve.
Killing me, was the first response that popped into my head, but instead I said, “Burning this p
