s Aria pulled it open. The hinge was rus

ery. Frank Miller scrambled to sweep a pile of fast-foo

the trash into the center console. "I

ine," A

e seatbelt. The buckle was jammed, the plastic housing cracked. Without looking, her fingers found

wide. He cleared his throa

he started, hi

many times, the collar frayed. He looked nothing like Richard Carlisle. He

she said so

in the air bet

er lip trembled, and his eyes instantly filled with

. Okay

constantly as if he expected a police escort to pull them over for ruining the aesthetic of the neighborhood. They crossed the Queensboro Bridge, the steel gird

ing at her, then

he said, apology woven into every syllabl

boutiques were replaced by bodegas with neon signs, laundromats, and row

ture store. He noticed Aria looking at the display w

what you're used

lection in the glass, checking for the black SUV that had been

e," she s

en sat on the stoop of the building, smoking and laughing. As the Ford

ng around to the passeng

ng the tactical pack over one sh

e swept over them-cold, assessing, lethal. It was a look that said she knew exactly where to strike to incapac

mbling with his keys, ushering

ming in wheezing gasps. Aria climbed steadily, though she was careful to pace herself. The old injury in her lower back-a souvenir fr

oor landing, voices drifted

y's voice, cracking with adolescent rage. "She's a Carlisle

t pale. He looked back at

hispered. "He doesn't mean i

voice. It wasn't just anger; it was fear.

touched Frank's ar

e door,"

ouldn't fit the key into the loc

kin was cool, his was clammy. She guid

or swu

an stood by the stove, wiping her hands on a stained apron. A teenage boy stood with his back to t

widened, taking in the tactical boots,

inging with her a stillness that seemed to suc