Detective Jenkins was incredibly faster.
She moved with a terrifying, practiced efficiency, closing the distance between the kitchen door and the table in two massive strides. Before Julian’s fingers could even brush the edge of the envelope, she grabbed him fiercely by the collar of his expensive cashmere sweater. With a swift, brutal motion, she kicked the back of his knee, instantly breaking his balance, and slammed him chest-first down onto the solid mahogany table.
The good silver clattered violently. Coffee spilled from the knocked-over cups, staining the pristine, ironed lace tablecloth a dark, muddy brown.
“Do not move a single muscle, Mr. Hayes,” Jenkins commanded, her voice dropping an octave, her knee pressing sharply and painfully into his lower lumbar spine.
“Julian!” Evelyn shrieked, a high-pitched wail of pure terror. She scrambled backward, her expensive silk robe catching on a chair, until her back hit the hallway wall.
Judge Sterling did not flinch. She calmly moved her plate of brioche to a dry section of the table, entirely unbothered. Harrison didn’t even blink; he casually, elegantly slid the envelope back across the table, safely out of Julian’s frantic, pinned reach.