She slugged him, point-blank. Slammed her fist so hard into his nose, the shock jarred her shoulder and left her hand numb. He staggered back, blood welling from both nostrils. For just an instant, a sewing needle dropped to the concrete floor would have sent echos bouncing through the vast station. Even the reporters had turned to stone, stunned motionless.
Jenna drew a sobbing breath. “Don’t touch me, you murdering son-of-a-bitch! You paid those bastards to kill Aunt Cassie! You paid them to pose as Ansar Majlis, so the hit couldn’t be traced back to you. Damn you to hell, you murdered her, and you murdered my fiancé, then you put out a contract on me, you sorry sack of shit! I’ve got enough proof to bring you down, you and your mafia pals with you. Gideon Guthrie’s been singing for his supper and believe me, they’re gonna throw away the key! If they don’t pull the switch on the electric chair. And frankly, after what you did to Carl and Aunt Cassie, I’d pull it in a heartbeat. I hope you fry!”
Her father stood swaying, waxy-pale, mouth working soundlessly. As the crowd roared its shock, his face twisted in a blurred grimace. Then he snatched open his coat and jerked out a small-caliber handgun. Noah Armstrong flung himself forward. The detective slammed Jenna down, away from the discharge of flame erupting from the muzzle. Another shot exploded as her father snarled, “Goddamn you to hell, Armstrong!”
Then Skeeter Jackson was on the floor beside her, swearing in some language she didn’t recognize, with a hole torn through his coat where her father’s shot had barely missed him. Jackson’s reflexes were good—he twisted aside even as her father fired again, mistaking him for Noah. The real Armstrong lay full length on top of Jenna, face down to protect her. Then a swarm of security officers buried her father, shoving him down under an avalanche of live bodies. The mob went mad, shrieking and hurling abuse that left Jenna numb. Skeeter Jackson grunted once, lying prone practically on top of Noah, and muttered. “I gotta get my own face back . . .”