“But it is true,” Clementine said, continuing her one-sided conversation with the crowd. “This is a robbery. So why don’t we start moving things along? If you will all be so kind as to remove any jewelry, watches, cuff links, and other valuables you have on, some of my boys will go around and collect them. And to save them the effort of patting you down, go ahead and put your phones into the bags too. Now, we’ve already set up a series of cell-phone jammers inside the museum and cut the landlines to the island, so no calls are coming in or out. But let’s just go ahead and remove all temptation to try calling for help anyway. This is a private party, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

Three of the giants reached into their pants pockets, drew out black plastic garbage bags, and snapped them open. But before they could step up and repeat their demand that folks take off their jewelry, or else, one of the hostages pushed his way to the front of the crowd.

Jonah McAllister.

The lawyer pinned his cold brown gaze on Clementine. His hands were balled into fists by his sides, while anger stained his unnaturally smooth cheeks a bright beet red.

“You won’t get away with this,” McAllister said in a furious voice, stabbing his finger at the giant. “None of you will get off this island alive. I have no doubt the police will be here any minute to round you up and throw you in prison where you belong—”

Crack!

Clementine didn’t even wait for McAllister to finish sputtering before she stepped forward and backhanded him across the face. The sharp, stinging blow threw the lawyer five feet to his right and slammed him into a pedestal topped by a glass case housing a dainty tea set. The pedestal seesawed back and forth, making the dishes rattle, before McAllister managed to grab it. He hung on to the stand and slowly used it to push himself upright. Then he turned to face the giant again. I had to give McAllister credit. He didn’t cringe—much.

Instead, eyes wide, he blinked like an owl for several seconds before slowly raising a hand to his face, which was bleeding. Clem had opened up a cut low on his left cheek, probably with the sharp edge of her watch. That was no way to treat such an expensive timepiece.

“You were saying?” Clementine asked.

McAllister blanched at the blood on his hand and slowly stepped back. It took him a few seconds, but he didn’t stop backpedaling until he was on the opposite side of the room, as far away from her as he could get and still be standing with the other hostages. Clementine smirked at him for a moment before turning her attention to the crowd again.