Her grip tightened on her gun. She held his phone in her left hand. The gun in her right. “Where’d you get that tattoo?”
He laughed.
She stared harder at the tattoo. The faint lines. The details on the snake. The tail that disappeared into the sleeve of his jacket. Not quite the same, not exactly as she remembered. A bit larger, actually. The two-headed snake from her nightmares had been smaller, closer to her attacker’s wrist.
Not the same tattoo. But close, so close.
A knife slashing down. Screams. Blood.
A two-headed snake with fangs bared, black eyes staring at me…
She put the gun to the perp’s forehead. “Where did you get the fucking tattoo?”
He wasn’t laughing any longer.
He also wasn’t speaking.
“Uh, Agnes.” Malik touched her shoulder. “I’ve got him. Put the gun down.”
Her whole body was shaking.
A knife slashing down. The blade going into me again and again. Blood…
“I’ve got him,” Malik said again.
Her breath heaved out.
“Agnes,” Malik’s voice sharpened.
She lowered her gun.
Chapter Seven
“What in the hell just happened?” FBI Agent Grayson “Gray” Stone demanded. Gray was not just a run-of-the-mill FBI agent. He was someone who had flown up the ranks in record time. His fancy new title—because it always seemed to be changing with Gray—was Executive Assistant Director.
The man held a whole lot of power at the Bureau.
And he currently looked extremely pissed…with her.
Probably because it was a Monday night. He’d expected to be home in bed with his lovely wife. His lovely pregnant wife. And, instead of being with Emerson…
He was at the FBI office. Glaring at Agnes.
She shifted a bit in the exceedingly uncomfortable chair that had been positioned directly across from his desk. Gray didn’t sit in his leather desk chair. He stood behind the desk. The better to glare down at her.
“What just happened…” Agnes nodded. She kept her voice brisk as she told him, “A sneak attack, sir. That’s what happened. The attacker came up behind me. Luckily, I thwarted his attack.” Thwarted. That was a fun word. It kind of swirled around in her head. She had thwarted?—
“Agnes.” Flat. Zero amusement. Typical Gray. “I’m talking about when you shoved the muzzle of your gun against his forehead. What the hell possessed you to do that?”
Oh, yes. That part of the night. “He wanted to kill me.”
“So you arrest him. We lock his ass away. When we stop a perp, we follow the rules. We don’t nearly shoot an unarmed man in the street, with half a dozen cops nearby.”
“I didn’t nearly shoot him. My finger never got even close to pulling the trigger.” Time to just get real with Gray. “We both know that if I’d wanted him dead, he would be dead. I wouldn’t have just sprayed mace in his eyes. The perp was coming at me with a knife. I could have shot him there and then and had a solid self-defense case.”
He swore.
“Yeah, exactly,” she agreed. “I didn’t. I didn’t shoot him. He’s under arrest, cooling down in holding. I did everything the right way.”
