Chapter Twenty-Three
The wolf in sheep’s clothing.
I stood, heart racing.
Victoria Hargrave was no longer the sad and passive lady I had seen on television, sobbing and giving a speech shortly after Ashburn’s death. Gone were the doe eyes and innocent demeanor. Now she stood decked in all black, holding a confident shooter’s stance. Her dark brows were knit in a scowl. The predatory iciness chilling her brown eyes convinced me she would have no problem at all pulling the trigger.
How had she got the drop on me so easily? I wanted to be angry at myself but all I could see was the big black hole of the muzzle, an evil eye staring at me, waiting. My mouth was dry, heart thudding loudly. How could I escape this mess without a bullet in the chest?
Think, Tom. Think.
“Step away from the co
