Instead of bullets, words came her way, almost an amused flirt. She wanted to call it amateur hour - she was the one with a flight deck and God and the duty commander willing, a Quinjet inbound, and he was still thinking he was in control of the situation. But it had been an elaborate set up, and he had her pinned down now; he might have something bigger to deal with a jet.
And he still had a bead on her, because the rooftop didn't have a damn thing in the way of cover.
"Why do you have such a problem understanding that no means no and classified means classified?" she called back over, trying to fake an amused tone. Keep him talking so he wasn't shooting at her, and giving the jets time to scramble: not the worst plan she'd come up with.