Emily didn’t remember returning to the kitchen. Didn’t remember trying to drag Mark out of the kitchen, out of the building, away from the city.
She did remember him digging in his heels before they’d gone five feet across the parquet floor. Emily struggled. Pulled. Jerked.
Until finally he pinned her to the silvered face of the fridge with an arm across her shoulders, pressing against her throat.
“What’s up, Emily? Spit it out.”
She shook her head. Not here. Not…
She pushed at him, and he moved back a single step.
Hand signs. ASL, American Sign Language, was common among SOAR and Special Operations Forces.
Lady, a gesture like tracing the line of a bonnet, and Chief… She couldn’t remember how to sign “staff” and had to laboriously spell it out. Then she made the sign pretty univers
