She thought of running. But she didn’t even have time to decide.
The driver of the sleek black Mercedes had already stepped out—dark glasses, a sharp black two-piece suit—and circled around to open the backseat door, moving with an air of practiced precision.
The door eased open, like time itself had slowed for the moment. Lucy stood on her tippy toes, muscles tense, ready to bolt if whoever emerged proved an enemy.
First, she saw the heels, red-bottomed Louboutin pumps under crisp white suit trousers. Then, gracefully, a woman rose: sunglasses, silver hair sleek and straight to her waist, every move drenched in elegance and menace.
The sunglasses came off slowly, luxuriously, revealing the face of Lucy’s enemy. Her nightmare.
Veronica.
Lucy’s breath caught. Her jaw dropped, terror a
