The woman's head snapped up, her composure finally cracking. "Igor?" she called out, her voice sharp.
Silence.
She rose from her chair in one fluid, predatory motion, pulling a small, silver pistol from a hidden holster at her back. The movement was so smooth, so practiced, it was clear this was not the first time she'd held a weapon. She moved toward the door, her steps silent on the concrete, the gun held steady in a two-handed grip.
Brandon was left alone, bound to the chair in the pool of single, naked light. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic, desperate rhythm. Igor was a mountain of a man. Who could have…
The heavy personnel door creaked open. A figure stood silhouetted in the doorway, but it wasn't Igor. It was a woman, her shape familiar even in the distorted shadows.
She stepped into the light.
Babydoll.
