usion. Four massive private security contractors filed in behind him, their tactical gear a stark contrast to the refined sanatorium. Corbin held a heavy canvas straightjacket in his h

epped closer, she lunged-not with the agility of an athlete, but with a desperate, calculated snap-and clamped her hand around his wrist. Her nails dug into his pulse point, and her his

pace to breathe; she pressed the small, sleek laptop-not the lipstick, but the high-tech tool Lawson had provided-toward him. She tapped a key, and a voice perfectly mimicking Johnie's sharp, arist

gn funds for months, and the intersection of his real guilt and this fabricated betrayal was paralyzing. Carma saw the sweat break out on his forehead. "She's setti

! Wait in the hall! Now!" The door clicked shut, leaving them in a charged silence. "What do I do?" he choked out, his voice thin. Carma reached into her

oisoning of Betty-Jo. Tell her it's the only way Johnie won't have her silenced in prison." She handed him a heavy fountain pen along with the pass. "Get this sign

. Believing Johnie had truly marked her for death, Marge grabbed the fountain pen. As she signed the document, the contact neurotoxin-a potent convulsant Carma had meticulously

system with surgical precision. Alarms blared as she collapsed onto the linoleum. Corbin, watching the woman die exactly as the "recording" had predicted Johnie would want, felt

ing with terror. "She tried to kill us both!" Carma, sitting calmly on her bed while a nurse changed her blood-spotted b

nds, sliding it into a hidden compartment of her Birkin bag. "Only I can protect you in D.C. now, Corbin," she said, looking down at him with a gaze that held no warmth. Corbin nodded frantically, his spir