The interior of the luxury sedan was a silent, moving vault speeding through the pitch-black, fog-choked roads of upstate New York. The rhythmic slap of the windshield wipers against the glass was the only sound breaking the heavy quiet, clearing the thick mist that threatened to swallow the vehicle whole.
In the backseat, Vivian’s entire body was locked in a state of hyper-focused paralysis.
Her fingers were clamped so tightly around the sleek, armored chassis of Dominic’s private satellite phone that her knuckles turned white. The small screen glowed against her palms, the faint blue light casting a sharp glare over her soot-stained cashmere sweater. The words of the text message seemed to pulse on the display, a direct lifeline from a man she had left bleeding out in the dark moss.
*
