“Who is this?” Richard demanded, his jaw tightening.

“Tell Mrs. Carter we’ll be seeing her soon,” the caller said. “Her husband owed us more than just money.”

The line clicked and went dead.

The silence in the SUV was heavier than the storm outside.

Richard stared at the dashboard console, his fingers still hovering over the call button.

“Who was that, Richard?”

My voice trembled, barely louder than a whisper.

He didn’t answer right away.

He shifted the gear into park and looked out at the flashing blue lights of the state police cruisers.

“A ghost from your husband’s past, I suspect,” Richard said.

His jaw was set in a hard, rigid line.

He tapped his phone screen, sending a quick, silent message to his security team.

Outside, the rain beat down on the tarmac of the private airfield.

The state police officers had Margaret pressed against the side of the cruiser.

Her expensive wool coat was soaked, clinging to her narrow shoulders.

An officer in a yellow slicker walked toward our vehicle, his heavy boots splashing through the deep puddles.

Richard rolled down his window.