Only a second.
He came back with an elbow.
I blocked it, drove my fist into his ribs, then pinned him in place.
“Who sent you?” I asked.
He spat blood and smiled.
Wrong answer.
I turned him and drove his face into the window, not enough to break it, just enough to remind him he wasn’t in control. The smile didn’t come back.
The front door opened.
Pierce came down with a gun in one hand and a folder in the other like he thought this was still something he could manage. He looked at the street, then at the men on the ground, then at me. He hadn’t caught up to what had almost happened yet.
“Inside,” I said.
“I’m not hiding.”
“You’re not helping either.”
“I need to meet the reporter.”
“You almost met the pavement.”
He looked like he wanted to argue.
I didn’t give him time.
“Roa
