Richard dragged her against the wall and flattened her body with his own. Small tremors shook her, affecting him in a way he did not want to consider.
He scanned her face quickly and recognized anger rather than fear.
“Are you insane?” His whisper was rough. “This could be a set up.”
“And allow this sack of refuse to violate my home undisturbed?” She pushed at him. “No way.”
“Listen.” Richard refused to budge. “We are at a slight disadvantage here. I don’t have a gun.”
“But I have knives. The kitchen is at the end of this room, remember?”
Richard looked at her stubborn jaw, her defiant eyes, and could not decide whether to admire her for her courage or to scoff at her utter lack of common survival sense. “You stick to me…”
“Like flypaper.” (ch. 4 p. 60).
