Page 159 of The Reluctant Hero

“No more pedestrian assault or stair pushing or gunfire.”

His eyes narrow. A thought crosses his mind, and his eyes dart away from me.

“Of course.”

I don’t believe that for a second.

“We’ll discuss it after my meeting with Matthias. Why don’t you go home and change into something more your style.” He starts straightening things on his desk that aren’t out of place to dismiss me. What made him so nervous all of a sudden?

“We’ll discuss it now.”

“Give me a break,Mandy. You’re too busy being the perfect wife to care about where the money comes from as long as you get a piece of it.”

“But there’s so much more hidden away somewhere, isn’t there?”

He sits back in his seat with an incredulous frown. “I don’t deal with any of that shit, so you’re out of luck.”

“I know it isn’t inyouraccount,” I tell him calmly. “At least someone knows you’re not smart enough to handle it.”

He stills in surprise. I’ve got his attention for sure now.

“Well if it isn’t my account, whose is it?” He mockingly asks. He’s leaning forward with his elbows braced on the desknow. I can feel him encroaching into my personal space bubble. The menacing look on his face is all the warning I need to know that violence is coming very soon. No superpower needed.

“Judge Fullerton?” I ask as my hands twist on the baton. Inside my gloves, my palms are sweating.

He raises an eyebrow with a smirk.

“Maybe that lawyer, Karter Jakolski? You guys have been friends for a while. But let’s stop fucking around. Whose account is it?”

“You don’t know anything,” he smirks victoriously.

“That’s why I’m asking,” I tell him in a slow, mocking voice.

“And I’m supposed to answer you just like that? Are you wearing a wire?” He laughs at the question, shaking his head. “No cop is going to save you. We have them all.”

“Whose account is it? Who else is involved?”

“Why don’t I prove it? I’ll call the cops right now and have you hauled away.”

I’ve already played that game.

His smug smirk changes into a stiff, frozen expression as I whip the baton out and knock the desk phone into the wall. I finish it with a twirl and put it back in my lap.

“Oops,” I comment without tone.

“You fucking bitch,” he mutters low, his shoulders hunching as he stands in the slowest threat possible. I’m not impressed.

“Why is that the first insult? People need to get more creative. Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I can’t have-”

A heavy pulse hits my chest. I tip the seat as he lunges across the desk, trying to fall on my back. It doesn’t work out that way. I start falling as he clears the desk. My cheek gets clipped by his shoulder, dazing me before my back hits theground. The fabric back of the seat doesn’t do much to cushion the impact. His body blocks my use of the baton for a second.

He straddles me. A backhand slap connects with my already bruised cheek before I can get my bearings. I twist to bring the baton up just as his bunched fist comes down. He hits the hammer end of it and cries out as it tears out of my grip and smacks my collarbone.

Ow.

He's off me just as fast, hunched over his hand and cursing viciously. I use the time to regain my feet, snatching the baton up again.

“Who else is involved,” I say through gritted teeth. There’s a cut on the inside of my cheek that’s bleeding. My face is burning as a familiar throb starts in my face. I need to get a helmet.

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