Chapter 3 3

The Lincoln navigated the exit ramp, the tires hissing against the wet pavement. The rain had started in earnest now, drumming a frantic rhythm on the roof.

Dawn kept up the act, taking shallow, ragged breaths. Every time Catrina looked like she was about to protest the detour, Dawn would let out a dry heave, and Catrina would recoil, pressing a scented handkerchief to her nose.

"You are ruining everything," Catrina muttered. "Dozier is going to be furious. He hates flakes."

"Better a flake than a spectacle," Dawn wheezed.

O'Malley turned the car onto the secondary road that led back toward the East End. It was a darker route, lined with dense woods that swallowed the headlights. This was the road less traveled, the one the locals used to avoid the summer tourists.

"Why is it so dark?" Catrina complained. "This is creepy."

"It's the shortcut," O'Malley said. "Fastest way to the estate."

Dawn closed her eyes, counting the seconds. Her intel pinpointed the time of impact at 7:42 PM. She checked the dashboard clock. 7:38 PM.

They were close.

"Can't you drive faster?" Catrina snapped. "I'm missing the red carpet photos."

"The road is slick, Miss Catrina," O'Malley said, his voice tight.

Dawn felt the car sway as a gust of wind hit them. The storm was intensifying. A gray rhino. That's what they called a highly probable, high-impact threat that everyone ignored until it was too late. The storm was a gray rhino. The financial collapse of her father's company was a gray rhino.

And somewhere on this road, Jennings Stafford was about to meet his own gray rhino.

"Slow down," Dawn said suddenly.

"What?" Catrina looked at her. "You just want to make me later?"

"I said slow down!" Dawn shouted.

O'Malley, startled by the authority in her tone, tapped the brakes.

Just in time.

Ahead of them, the darkness was broken by a flash of sparks. A massive shape had sheared through the guardrail on the curve. It wasn't a normal car. It was a black SUV, tumbling down the embankment into the ravine.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!" O'Malley slammed on the brakes fully. The Lincoln skidded, the anti-lock brakes pulsing against the sole of his foot.

The car came to a halt twenty yards from the broken rail.

Silence filled the cabin for a heartbeat, broken only by the slap of windshield wipers.

"Did you see that?" O'Malley's voice shook.

"Drive," Catrina whispered. "O'Malley, just drive. That's none of our business. We don't want to get involved."

Dawn was already unbuckling her seatbelt.

"Are you insane?" Catrina grabbed her arm. "It's pouring rain! You're sick!"

Dawn looked at Catrina's hand on her arm, then up at her face. "I'm feeling better."

She shoved the door open. The wind ripped it from her grasp. Rain lashed at her face instantly, soaking the silk dress within seconds. It was freezing, but the cold made her feel alive. It sharpened her senses.

"Miss Dawn!" O'Malley yelled, scrambling for his umbrella.

Dawn didn't wait. She hiked up her silver skirt and climbed over the guardrail. The mud was slippery, sucking at her heels. She kicked them off. Barefoot, she slid down the embankment toward the wreckage.

The SUV was on its side. Smoke was already curling from the engine block. The smell of gasoline was thick and pungent, masking the scent of the pine trees.

Dawn reached the vehicle. The windows were shattered but held together by the lamination-bulletproof glass. This wasn't a civilian crash.

She wiped the mud from the rear window and peered inside.

Lightning flashed, illuminating the interior in a stark, strobe-light effect.

The driver was slumped over the wheel, his neck at an impossible angle. Gone.

But in the back, a man was pinned. He was conscious. His face was a mask of blood, but those eyes... she would know those eyes anywhere. They were the color of steel and just as cold.

Jennings Stafford.

The man who, unbeknownst to him, had anonymously funded the appeal that shaved five years off her prison sentence. The man whose calculated disappearance for three months would cause his company's stock to plummet, creating the vacuum that Dozier Buckley would fill.

He hadn't disappeared. He had been here. Dying in the mud while she was meant to be sipping champagne at a gala.

Not this time.