She let herself relax minutely, too. The fear had been very real, the fear that he’d try his modified reflexes against her flesh-and-blood ones. He wouldn’t have made it, lived to tell about it, of that she was sure. Her only choice would have been to put a bullet into his spine, even though he was no use to her dead. Her other problem would have been the urgent need to escape from the well-patrolled pier area—a murderer with her victim’s blood still on her clothes. Not a pleasant concept. (Less pleasant was the idea of killing someone she’d once cared for as more than a friend . . . but she couldn’t dwell on that now.)