Splices of disjointed memories filled my thoughts: foremost among them, an older blonde woman sitting with Senator McFadden. I recalled wondering why it wasn't his wife, the woman I'd met at the Sinful Threads dinner. The senator was looking at us—at me—with a darkened expression as we stood in the entryway to the club. His appearance was much different than the jovial senator and possible presidential candidate whom I had previously met. He wasn't alone in staring me down. The entire room was turned our direction.
And then she, the blonde, was in the bathroom. She reached for my wrist. My body shivered as I relived the coldness of her touch. I ran away...back to...Sterling? No, to the bar where he'd told me to sit.
I remembered.
My hand went to the bruise on my arm now covered with
