"Ms. Lynn, a gentleman outside asked me to pass this along to you."
The cab driver handed back a black, unmarked parcel the moment I climbed in. I frowned and tore it open.
Inside was a stack of photographs.
Every one of them showed Ryan: different hotels, different private rooms, different women. At the bottom of the pile, a slip of paper with hasty, uneven writing:
Zoe, I'm sorry. The loan sharks are going to kill me. This is the last thing I can do for you.
— Ava
I looked out the window. Ava was surrounded outside the detention center gates, several heavyset men closing in around her, her wheelchair already knocked on its side. She was on the ground, clutching her bag with both arms.
I felt nothing.
These photographs had been her insurance policy, the leverage she'd been saving
