"My boss wants to see you," a man with a ski mask said as he stepped out of the car, his voice icy, his eyes emitting a cold gleam. "Before you get in, hand over your phone."
Rosemary fished out her cell and tossed it to him. Once he pocketed the device, he gestured for her to get into the car.
Inside, Rosemary sat in the back with imposing poise, as though she owned the vehicle.
A smirk played at the corners of her mouth. She was curious to see who was behind this and what kind of game they were playing.
"She's in," said the guy riding shotgun, reporting back to his boss on the other end of the phone. "Yes, got it, I'm on it."
Forty minutes later.
The car pulled up to the outskirts of a neighboring town, halting at a derelict structure that looked like a half-finished villa, a skeleton of rebar and concrete, rising three and a half stories into the sky.
