BZRK. Майкл Грант

Yes, that did not seem at all crazy. Her mother had taught her to listen to what wasn’t said. The holes in conversation were often the most interesting parts.

      Of course, if she was in danger, maybe this guy was the one bringing it.

      Vincent kept his eyes averted until she had dragged the robe slowly, slowly and carefully over her broken arm and tied it with her good hand.

      Then, with a sudden fluid motion, Vincent had a pen in his hand and pressed it against her heart, just beneath the breastbone.

      Sadie froze. “What are you doing? Autographing me?”

      Vincent shook his head. “Making a point.” He drew the pen back, aimed it safely away, and squeezed it. A glittering blade shot up. “Making the point that if I were here to kill you, you’d be long dead by now.”

      Sadie breathed. More calmly than she had any right to do.

      “Let me guess: you’re here to save my life. How exactly are you going to do that?”

      “For a start, like this.” He touched her face and held the contact for a several seconds. There was nothing erotic in it.

      “So,” Sadie said flatly.

      Vincent nodded. “Like I said, I knew your father.”