As the cold realization of Carol Greene’s words settled over me, she watched my growing anxiety with a predatory smoothness. She let out a soft, sharp laugh—a sound that was devoid of warmth—and gestured toward the parked SUV with a flick of her wrist.
I took a cautious look around the bustling exterior of the restaurant. The sounds of clinking glasses and boisterous laughter from the Longroad Logistics celebration were muffled but still audible through the heavy brick walls. No one from the dinner party was looking my way; the workers were too busy enjoying the rare luxury of a steak dinner and free-flowing liquor. Steeling my nerves, I took a tentative step toward her vehicle. Carol reached into her designer handbag, pulled out a pack of slim, expensive-looking cigarettes, and offered o
