leam of Manhattan for the gray, somber landscape of upstate New York. It pulled into the visito

ked asphalt. She walked to the guard post, a sma

he slot to the officer on duty, a man with a b

flicker of something-recognition, or perhaps instruct

c. "Ira Burton's parole was revoked. Order came down f

le. The parole board approved it last

e glass, lowering his voice. "Lady, in this state, the Sincla

cla

nging at her side, clenched into a fist so ti

s was his opening move-a cruel, calculated

hest down to a cold, hard ember. She turned to walk back t

shadow of the guard post, the world

s, had materialized on the access road. Doors slid open, and a swarm of

he gray afternoon into a c

n hiding overseas after embezzling

about the allegations of fraud

ers blocking the worst of the onslaught. But the reporters were relentless, shoving

passive mask. She moved toward the Rover, a slo

dying oak tree, sat a custom black Maybach, i

ow lowered by

en his fingers, the smoke coiling in the dim interior. His eyes, predatory and dark w

mile touched his lips. This was just the beginning. He wanted to

his driver, his voice a low

orter with a sweaty face, Mitch Tucker,

e a mess after the bankruptcy! Living on the streets! Is

sto

Tucker's face, and for a moment, the temperatu

back. "Stay back," he war

ow completely surrounded the Range Rover, making

panther in the shadows, watching, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. The mom