I was in no state to dwell on the lingering questions or the complex web of favors I was weaving with the elite. I offered Amy Jensen a weak, somewhat embarrassed smile and a faint nod of gratitude before turning my attention to the woman leaning heavily against me. Jennifer Arnoyd was still trembling, her steps unsteady and fluid, like her bones had turned to water from the sheer terror of the night’s events. I put my uninjured arm around her waist, bracing her as we limped toward the entrance of the high-end residential complex.
As we reached the iron gates of Creek Estates, a security guard emerged from the small, glass-walled guard shack, moving with the sluggish, swaying gait of someone who had been dozing on the job. He blinked against the harsh fluorescent lights of the entrance, s
