Chapter 1 - THE SIGNATURE THAT NEVER HAPPENED
The locks clicked shut.
Alina Voss sat perfectly still in the back of the black sedan, her fingers gripping the edge of her coat.
Across the street, the gray car remained parked beside a newspaper stand.
Its windows were tinted.
Its engine was running.
And the man behind the wheel had not moved.
Dorian Cross settled beside her.
“Rafe.”
The driver looked into the rearview mirror.
“Yes, boss?”
“Take the service exit.”
Rafe nodded.
The sedan pulled away from the curb.
Alina turned toward her husband.
“Who is following us?”
Dorian didn't answer immediately.
He was watching the side mirror.
“Someone who shouldn't know where we are.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“No.”
“Dorian.”
He looked at her.
For three years, she'd known that expression.
Cold.
Controlled.
Impossible to read.
It was the same face he'd worn when their marriage began falling apart.
The same face he'd worn when she asked why he no longer came home.
And the same face he'd worn when she finally told him she wanted a divorce.
“Is this about your business?” she asked.
His silence answered.
Alina laughed bitterly.
“Of course.”
“Alina—”
“No. Don't.”
She looked out the window.
“I'm not doing this again.”
Dorian's jaw tightened.
“Doing what?”
“Being told nothing while everyone around me knows exactly what's happening.”
He looked away.
Rafe turned onto a narrow side street.
The gray sedan followed.
Alina noticed.
Her stomach tightened.
“Dorian.”
“I see it.”
“Is someone trying to hurt you?”
He paused.
Then answered:
“Possibly.”
She stared.
“And me?”
He didn't answer.
That frightened her more than anything.
The car accelerated.
Rafe made two sharp turns.
The gray sedan stayed behind them.
Dorian took out his phone.
“Change of route,” he said quietly. “No hospital entrance. Underground access.”
Alina looked at him.
“Why?”
He turned.
May you like
“Because whoever is following us knows where we're going.”
And for the first time that morning, she understood that her divorce might not be the most dangerous thing happening to her.
