“What the hell is this?” Sutcliffe asked, still sniveling.
Sutcliffe hadn’t been hit, as far as she’d seen anyway, but his tone suggested that he was in pain. There was no time for her to speculate about his injuries and no one answered Sutcliffe’s question because another person materialized in the entrance, and the whole room went into suspended animation.
Her shock wasn’t exclusive; Grant had to feel it too. This was the last person who she ever would have expected to show himself. It was Brodie, tall and merciless in his dark jeans and leather jacket. There was no weapon in his hand, and he didn’t spare her or the men he’d killed a glance.
Without a flicker of emotion, he went to Art’s side, and then moved a few steps further, stopping only when he was about equidistance from her in
