Chapter 25
VIOLET
Why didn’t you change out of your skirt? my body screams at me.
My feet are cold. My hands are freezing.
My gloves are stuck to my skin, and as I try to pry the front door of the SparrowHead building open with my hands, the Burberry scarf around my neck nearly goes flying down the sidewalk.
The weatherman said it’d be snow; he never said there’d be a monsoon of it.
Light flurries at five o’clock turn to a steady fall, and five hours after Marilyn drops me at my cozy brownstone, I finally get back to work, my fingers buzzing to begin a night of research on the Fletcher case after getting caught in one of the worst traffic jams in Brooklyn.
My taxi was already in Manhattan by the time Jack Frost comes to kick ass, and one blistering cab ride later, I bluster onto the
