a. There was no sign, just a heavy steel doo

clipped inside her bra. She stepped out, the

d knocked on the metal pe

de for '

ned on the other side. The bolts slamme

acket. He was the owner of The Vault, the most exclusive speakeasy i

ng the alley behind her. Jesu

nterior of the club. The air was thick with jazz and the

ny counter and held up one finger.

ottle of 30-year-old single malt scotch and p

one long swallow. The liquid burned all the way down, a fir

ot

low down, Cal.

her fingers flying across the s

ria is the vessel. They have

d witch. Do you want me to wipe the clinic's serv

ower this time, but her hands were still trembling. It

panic. The feeling of

often. The jazz music, usually soothing, felt loud and

she wore-a gift from Heinrich on their first anniv

ination failing. With a sudden jerk,

e pearls over

Nate

ce coiled into the bottom

was her life. Pretty, e

nore. She pushed off the bar stool, her movements loose a

e city's elite. Heads began

.? No, it

her. She

sed his phone, the camera l

the corner. The bouncer moved instantly, intercep

rm. Cal, stop. You need t

soundless, open-mouthed expression of hysteria.

ct puppet strings had been cut,

handle this. If the press got hold of he

d dialed the one number he

ang

ther end was deep, barito

e. At Th

are. Why are

f another drink directly from the bottle. And she's about to self-des

on the line so cold

nrich Lloyd said. I

ne wen

to Calleigh. He gently too

g, Nate sa

up at him, her

Ice

e's lapel, her fingers digging int

ooked sad. I can't p

of tires screeching in the al

door ban

ifted instantly. The temperat

a black trench coat over a tuxedo, his hair slight

ns. His eyes locked onto Calleigh, who was slum

. The crowd parted