“She can’t let the truth get out. She’s going to frame Julian for all of it.”

Chloe didn’t answer.

She backed away from the window, her eyes darting around the dark warehouse for an exit.

The heavy wooden door at the side of the building began to creak open.

The sound of footsteps echoed on the concrete.

The door swung open with a dry, metal screech.

The salt-heavy wind from the harbor rushed into the warehouse, carrying the smell of low tide and diesel fuel.

Two men in dark suits stepped through the opening first.

They held heavy black pistols, their arms extended and locked.

One of them kicked a rusted paint can out of his path, sending it clattering across the concrete floor.

Chloe scrambled backward, her heels slipping on the grit.

She raised her gun, but her hands were shaking so hard the barrel traced wide circles in the air.

“Drop it, Chloe,” a voice said from the doorway.

Victoria Callahan stepped into the dim light of the warehouse.

Her beige wool coat was pristine, not a single speck of dust on the fabric.