Maisie
Jericho's lips curled with disgust and he dropped him instantly. His eyes swung to mine. He looked pissed. "Gruer? Philip Gruer? The fucking fugitive?"
He was angrier than I'd seen him in a long time. Maybe afraid, too.
Soren looked too disturbed to speak. Quinlan was staring closely at Gruer with a dark expression in his eyes. "I know you," he said quietly.
I felt the familiar air of violence sink into the atmosphere. Someone was about to die.
Gruer, oblivious to the way he was being watched like prey straightened, brushing off his tailored Armani suit. "I suppose I'll have to try better at breaking the ice next time." He flashed me a mischievous smile. "You taste delicious, though."
That did it. For Jericho, at least.
He lunged for Gruer and the latter vanished, only to reappear in front of Soren, holding up a couple of papers. "You seem the more rational of the three."
