Too Late, Mr. Winters: I'm No Victim

a physical blow. It whipped her hair

ilding lobby, the revolving door

ward her. "Take it. He insists

is hand. It was freedom. It w

took

a breath, lo

the check do

e noise of New York traffic, but Silas flinched as if she'd fi

cling bin on the curb and d

e hush money," she sa

as seeing a stranger. The quiet girl who

led a yellow cab. It screeched to a halt

d the driver. "Th

the rearview mirror. "That's a lo

purse-her emergency stash-and flashed

hone from the lining of her bag. It was an old Noki

screen flooded with notifications. T

ou, you ung

nd you. The tru

ink you

up and do wh

without reading

an hour later. The neon sign flickered, one letter d

h, using a fake name. The

d her single suitcase onto the questionable bedspread. She

transmitter behind the headboard and a pinhole camera in the smoke detect

e of cheap sweaters, she pulled out three black

linked green in the darkness, ref