"Easy. Easy. Easy," said a man's low amused voice.
Jon Saxon succeeded in throwing Ileth off his chest and surging to his feet. He found himself staring into the tiny barrel of a dart gun. The dart gun was being held steady as a rock by a gray-eyed, yellow-haired man with a faint smile on his wide thin lips.
Saxon let his hand fall away from his holster.
"Get his gun, Ileth."
"Right, Emil."
Saxon felt the girl's cool fingers slip inside his blouse, pluck his automatic from his holster.
"Has he any other weapons?"
She patted Saxon deftly, impersonally, shook her head, her black hair swinging.
"No. That's all."
The blond man lowered his gun. "You may sit down, sir."