I can feel that I have at least seven weapons strategically placed on my body—while you have been doing a poor job of hiding a single dagger behind your back. I would also easily be able to reconstruct the series of blows and relative positions that led to this”—the back of his hand brushes against my cheekbone, a barely there touch that has me pulling back and shivering at the same time—“specific pattern of bruises on your skin. This is a degree of situational awareness that doesn’t strike me as typical for a paralegal, so . . . what are our jobs, Ethel?”
