Grace swallowed hard, her gaze running over the casually clad man before scanning the rest of the room. Behind the man, large glass windows overlooked the central business district and the harbor beyond. The city lights sparkled and glowed like gorgeous jewels. She noted the room contents—the expensive wooden furniture and the thick cream carpet beneath her feet. A massive modern painting provided a burst of red and green and yellow and blue—the only actual color in the room.
“Did you hear me, Ms. Feeney?”
“I heard you,” Grace snapped. “And I have no clue what you mean. I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but you have no right to detain me. I’m leaving, Mr. Whoever-You-Are.”
“Matthew Geraghty,” the man said, a strange note in his voice.
“Well, Mr. Geraghty, please speak plainl
