eping her gaze pinned to the plush wool car

dizzying, 270-degree panorama of Lower Manhattan and the glittering gray expanse of the harbor. The decor wa

Brendon Justice sat reviewing

ic planes of his face. He wore a crisp white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled once over his

rged with the quiet, suffocating gravit

, but nearly seven years of survival kept her fi

g precisely two paces from t

coffee, Mr

dry, and slightly nasal, stri

g, scarred fingers, picked up the porcelain cup

rned the cup to its sau

epta

harp as surgical steel, settled directly on Dulce's f

lce kept her eyes deliberately dull, letting her e

r, crossing one long leg over the other, his gaze rak

" he asked, his voi

e Long. Today i

rass pen holder on his desk

er jacket, the frizzy bangs, the blotchy, sallow skin covered in unev

looked like an exhausted municipal clerk who h

s tone dripping with frost. "Tucker is gettin

jab of her finger, letting her lower lip tremble slightly as

head away, dismis

e caught the glint of du

ar matte-silver band she had purch

ndon asked, the quest

hands meekly in front of her jacket. "My husband drives long-ha

lass. Frumpish, burdened with chil

ified air of Manhattan's elite, su

orner of his desk, the barest hint

fts down to legal. I want their redline r

away,

-bound folders, bowed her head re

keeping her shoulders hunched until the

her lungs in a ragged gasp. She leaned her back against the cold m

e was in the lion's den, and the

panoramic glass wall, staring down at the ants scu

ocket, his thumb brushing against the smoo

e empty room, his eyes dark with an unyi