That wasn't good. Anyone talking about "one last chance" was rarely a good thing; for all she knew, he was about to drop a canister of mustard gas, which was no less nasty for being old-fashioned.
But it was also so much a damn cliche. He was threatening, but had not proven that he could back it up except by being very close to her and threatening. It made her heart beat faster, yes, but she had two weapons in hand; it was more adrenaline than fear pumping through her.
"Not even civilians get classified information," she said with a sneer, and her Beretta slid out of the holster, still slow and behind her leg.