Chapter 5

At five sharp. I watched Claire Morrison exit Pierce Tower’s executive garage. Something felt off seeing such a petite woman climb into a fully loaded Jeep Grand Cherokee L Summit Reserve.

I kept my Porsche Cayenne GTS at a discreet distance, trailing her fifteen minutes north to The Estates at Greenwich Cove – one of those ultra–private communities where homes start at eight figures. Not exactly the neighborhood you’d expect for someone in Operations.

The guard at the limestone gatehouse barely glanced at my Cayenne’s diplomatic plates before waving me through. I fed him some line about visiting a friend from the country club.

I parked a few houses down from where her Jeep sat in a lusated circular driveway. The whole time, I kept asking myself what the hell I was doing. This wasn’t me following people, playing amateur detective.

Maybe it was those telltale marks on her neck. Maybe it was that smudged MAC Russian Red.

Either way, my anxiety was in the driver’s seat now.

Just as I was about to put this ridiculous stalking expedition behind me, another car glided into view.

car I’d recognize anywhere.

Nathan’s Rolls–Royce Cullinan Black Badge.

watch ticked off the seconds as I

front of Claire’s designer

No movement

pulled up Nathan’s

voice warm through my

beautiful, everything

“Still at the office? You weren’t feeling great earlier

actually. Last–minute thing with Senator Mitchell about that Hudson Yards project.

sounded distant to my

She knows the

clutching a Smythson portfolio, sliding into Nathan’s Rolls.

talking: “Don’t worry about earlier – just conference call fatigue. Claire just got in,

seven. I’ll pick up dinner

hanging up, I forced myself to

tone was completely

Pure coincidence.

impromptu request. Claire being the numbers person. My

Rolls glide past the Newport style fountain toward

something made me pause.

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