A slow smirk tugged at Fitzgerald's lips.
His eyes swept over Catherine with quiet calculation.
She was tall for a woman, but still several inches shorter than him. Lean. Strong. Around a hundred and thirty-five pounds, perhaps. The pistol aimed steadily at his chest complicated things, but not enough to make escape impossible. If he lunged first and shoved her hard enough, the muzzle would veer off course. Even if she fired, the bullet probably wouldn't strike anything immediately fatal.
He could survive.
He had already mapped out half a dozen ways to get out of this room before either of them spoke another word.
But...
*Click*
He could hear her turning off the safety.
His gaze lingered on her face.
Those emerald eyes never wavered. Her lips were pressed into a firm line, every muscle in her body coiled with absolute resolve.
She wasn't threatening him. She had already accepted pulling the trigger if necessary.
Something stirred inside him. Not fear. Curiosity.
