Tara’s father, George, glared at his daughter as she strode into his home in Chicago. “What the hell kind of mess have you got into now, girl? Murder?”
She waved her hand. “Pa, I am your daughter. I had a problem. I dealt with it.”
“With all the subtlety of a wrecking ball.”
Tara shrugged. Her father didn’t scare her—something he’d always admired in her. She was totally without empathy. George Hubert recognized the psychopath in his daughter and had even encouraged it. But her propensity for not thinking her actions through was beginning to threaten their lives.
“Tara, this is going to take a while to figure out.”
She raised her eyebrows at him. “Really? It’s such a little thing.”
“Let me understand this.” George got up. “You f****d a nobody, thus cheating on your rich, good-looking
