Chapter 18 · Deal With a Hound

"Drop the girl and maybe I won't blow your knees out," Mira said. Her gun was steady, the muzzle hovering just inches from Reid's forehead.

Reid didn't move. He felt the girl's shallow breath against his chest, her small frame shivering. He could smell the ozone from the blast that had torn the door off its hinges—the metallic tang of corporate-grade explosives.

"You're not doing that," Reid replied, his voice raspy. He didn't shift his weight, didn't even blink. "She's barely breathing. You want to be the one who kills a kid on a Tuesday?"

"I'm a corporate enforcer, not a babysitter," Mira snapped. She stepped closer, the toe of her combat boot clicking against the debris. The distance between them vanished. He could smell her—expensive citrus and something cold, like sterilized steel. "And you're a ghost. A dead man walking in a body that doesn't belong to him. Give me the asset, and I might let you walk out of here in one piece."

Reid glanced down at the girl, then back at Mira. Her eyes were hard, but there was a flicker of something else. Hesitation? Or maybe just boredom.