The question hung in the air like a physical, moving force—a cold pressure that seemed to squeeze the oxygen out of the lavishly decorated living room.
Theresa Thorn sat perched on the edge of the velvet couch, her spine as straight as a blade, watching the two scheming women before her. She wore a smile that was sweet, practiced, and utterly lethal.
Theresa had spent a lifetime understanding the murky waters of elite society, and her intel was rarely wrong. Someone had planned a surgical strike against Alina Gray. Unfortunately, the assassins had been sloppy, or perhaps fate had been cruel; Alina's co-worker had been the one to pay the ultimate price.
"Why do you think that we, of all people, would want Alina Gray dead?" Elizabeth Vaughn asked, her voice trembling with a forced indignation.
