Page 111 of The Presidents Shadow

MADDY HAILS A cab and tells the driver, “Just take us to the general neighborhood of Third Avenue.”

Belinda immediately interrupts and revises the order.

The two young women walk closer to McCarthy. When he sees them he loses interest in his Slurpee, throwing it to the ground in surprise.

He instinctively backs up a few inches.

“How the hell? You two assholes are… are supposed to… supposed to be…”

“Yeah, I get it,” says Belinda, sounding bored. “We’re supposed to be dealing drugs in Dubai.”

“I’ve got some questions for—” Maddy begins, but she doesn’t get the chance to finish.

Belinda whips out her pistol, aims it at McCarthy’s head, and pulls the trigger. But… nothing happens.

“What?” Belinda asks, looking at the gun in confusion.

“Safety, dumbass,” McCarthy sneers—and then pulls his own gun.

Maddy tightens her shoulders and spine. She concentrates with an intensity so overwhelming that her heart races and her head aches.

McCarthy points his weapon at Belinda, finger curled over the trigger. Suddenly, he goes flying backward, thrown by some invisible force. McCarthy falls hard to the cement ground. The detective goes completely still. Blood oozes from the back of his head.

Belinda, now standing, looks down at the bloody McCarthy. Then she swiftly and firmly kicks the side of his head.

“Superpowers, dumbass, ” she says.