CHAPTER 170

He held up his hands and turned, relieved to see the woman and not some Connery crazed assasin nutter or aging Russian terrorist squaring off with him.

Unfortunately the woman was holding a Glock-17 as though she knew how to use it.

“Afternoon,” he observed calmly.

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t put a bullet in you right now.” Her accent told him she was American.

A joke about the second commandment probably wouldn’t work considering his Diemaco and SIG Sauer were locked and loaded with one in the chamber.

“Is there anyone who’d actually give a damn about a man like you?” Her throat convulsed, and hatred sculpted the lines of her mouth.

The question jolted him. He had mates in the L.j corp team, but no one else really cared if he lived or died. But she didn’t know that.

He looked at her white knuckles and the pulse beating frantically at the base of her throat. There was
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