The moment Everly identified her amateur stalker, every single assassin on the planet could have spontaneously combusted and she wouldn't have cared. Her brain had locked onto a new target with the single-minded focus of a heat-seeking missile.
Watching the woman flee like a startled deer triggered something primal in Everly's predator instincts.
Chase. Must chase.
Without hesitation, she grabbed the nearest chair, hefting it like a medieval battering ram, and launched it straight through the restaurant's already bullet-riddled window. The remaining glass exploded outward in a spectacular shower of shards, creating a hole large enough for a person to dive through.
Sorry, restaurant owner. Send the bill to my psychotic fiancé—this is technically his family's fault anyway.
She vaulted through the window frame with the grace of an Olympic athlete and the moral compass of a feral cat.
