The windows are open.
The source of the breeze.
Finger on the trigger, I lean and peer down.
Would someone actually hang from the ledge?
I look down—street, ledge—no hands, no rigging.
No plausible exit.
Not without gear.
Broad daylight.
Crowds milling below.
Nobody climbs a façade in broad daylight without being seen.
A rattling sounds.
What was that?
Quiet.Definitely inside.
I leave the window open and step into the living room.
“Hello?”
My gaze falls on one of the photographs.It’s of me and Adrien.
STOP.
The message makes sense now.
The blackmailers sent photographs to Senator Crawford too.
My gut says I’m alone in the apartment now.
I can’t quite describe how I know, but the place feels empty.
To confirm, I clear the bedrooms, one by one.
Then return down the hall, finger on the trigger for my entire tour.
The front door’s closed, whereas I left it cracked.
The window—a distraction.
I close and lock the door—symbolic, maybe—then dial Quinn.
ChapterTwenty-One
Adrien
I’ve never been the man who checks his phone every five minutes.Yet here I am, watching the screen like it keeps my future under glass.What the hell is this woman doing to me?
Any sane man would be concerned.She slipped a loaded handgun into her backpack this morning.“Precautionary,” she said.As if the word could blunt the image of cold steel against her palm.
