The four corporate operatives spun around in panic, drawing their silenced tactical pistols as the armored blast shield of the server room window retracted. Standing on the other side of the three-inch ballistic glass was Adrian Cross. He wore heavy denim trousers, steel-toed work boots, and a dark wool work jacket, his broad frame relaxed, his dark eyes cold, hard, and utterly fearless. Beside him stood Frank Kowalski, holding a…
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