line

rom my coat pocket and popped open the side tray, sliding out the SIM

and forefinger and dropped it through the iron grate of a s

dbag, I dialed Beth Shepherd, my best fr

s loud, energetic voice b

't you be slaving away for that

And I dum

dent coffee shop on the corner, pushin

or a second before Beth pra

t narcissist to the curb? Where ar

ordered a hot Americano at the cou

e curb outside. Beth stormed through the cafe doors in four-inch heels with tortois

ed? Did that bastard

s scanning my face as she slid

gers against the paper cup, and gave her the short version

table, making the spoons rattle and dra

ling my dad's media directors at the Shepherd Group

t y

d pressed my hand over hers,

igher first. The fall hurt

or a beat, then gri

l Caroline Bentley. So

k out the window toward

complaining that collecting the quarterly commercial

er eyes towar

cial real estate empire across Boston and Manhattan, and you spent s

d, and I pa

n in my palm, m

away, I nev

h its nine-figure balance, and wired one million dollars dir

She glanced at the deposit notif

's the retainer fo

ent on trend

gers together

tching every move Ap

moves in the sports media

my suitcase handle, and led

the heated leather backseat beside Beth. I leaned my head back

traffic, the private phone in my lap

from an anonymous IP address and contained a si

can do for you after you sa

he transferred out last month; she still had temporary backup-serv

ex underground executive parking garage. Standing beside a black SUV, Ke

reet, I recognized his face instantly--it was the chief stra

reezing Kelsie's smug smile on the glass scr

ook one look at the frozen fram

e real mole ac