More than she cared to admit. Oshiro had decided it wasn’t even a blasting cap, rather just a few M-80 firecrackers tied to a clever sparking tool with short fuses. Given the narrow confines of the bank box, the force of the explosion had been contained, creating far more sound than fury or damage. Tell that to her pounding heart or the fuzzy way her hearing kept getting way too loud and then would cut out, the world silenced by white noise. Or the trembles that didn’t shake her body but instead radiated below her skin like an itch that couldn’t be scratched but made her flesh crawl. At least after experiencing Clint’s treachery firsthand, Samra had been willing to sacrifice client confidentiality. She’d given them access to all of Clint’s accounts—which now added up to less than a thousand dollars in total, not including whatever cash he’d stashed in his deposit box. From the records, it seemed someone had drained the online accounts while Clint was in custody. Jenna had a damn good idea who that was but said nothing to Oshiro.
