The barrel of the Glock 17 was cold, but the eyes behind it were an absolute inferno.
Adriana stood in the doorway of the nursery, her grey suit jacket discarded, her white silk blouse stained with the dark, copper blood of the guards she had cut through to get to us. She looked like a ghost that had finally realized it was dead.
"Step away from the screen, Maya," she whispered, her voice sounding like dry leaves skittering over a tombstone.
Reid was on his feet in a heartbeat, his body a solid, protective wall in front of me. "Adriana, put the gun down. You've seen the video. You know the truth. You aren't the enemy Arthur built you to be. You're his victim, just like we are."
