RIP—
The sound of tearing fabric filled the air.
Sophie Sullivan was furious. Her collar was already ripped open, revealing a black lace bra underneath.
"Frank Mitchell," she said, struggling to control her fury, her voice dangerously calm, "if you let go of me now, I can pretend nothing happened. Otherwise, don't blame me."
Frank Mitchell's gaze fell on her smooth, pale skin. "So," he mused, "you're hiding weapons on you? Let me find out where."
Before his hand could touch Sophie Sullivan's collarbone, she had already snatched the tea knife from the tea table. He had used it for making tea just moments before. Now, Sophie Sullivan clutched it, its sharp point pressed firmly against Frank Mitchell's neck.
His carotid artery was inches away.
Everyone froze, Frank Mitchell included. She had been scanned by the security detector, and it hadn't registered any metal. He had let his guard down, not expecting her to be so volatile.
