CHAPTER 15
HOW COULD ONLY twenty-four hours have passed since my life got turned upside down once again? This time yesterday, my biggest worry had been how many times Mr. Dobson would try to look down my top that afternoon. And whether I could resist stapling his testicles to the boardroom table if he kept doing so.
Yet, here I was, aching all over and sharing airspace with a group of people who had, until now, only been code names in the Interpol database.
I followed Emmy out of the conference room and along a corridor dominated by a macabre tapestry that seemed more suited to Zacharov’s tastes.
“What’s next?”
“I was only kidding yesterday when I said we could skip shooting practice. Let’s head out to the range. Any preferences on what you want to shoot?”
“Can I get the Glock back?”
