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<p style="color:#333333;font-weight:normal;font-size:16px;line-height:30px;font-family:Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif;hyphens:auto;text-align:justify;" data-flag="normal">Chapter 35<br>The door handle moved again. Subtle. Audible only because Munroe anticipated the movement. <br>With the Jericho aimed toward where she expected a body and the two spare magazines shoved tight against her waistband, Munroe moved the few steps to the desk. <br>The heavy side faced out where it could provide the most benefit in shielding her body from whatever came through the door, and she kept behind the furniture, one knee to the floor, hands on the desktop for control.<br>Silence ticked along until the next subtle rocking of the latch against metal.<br>But the door didn’t open, which she would have expected by now if the person on the other side had even a modicum of lock picking skills. <br>Munroe leaned out to scan the floor. Had it been she on the other side, had the equipment been availab...