The Jilted Heiress's Secret Revenge

killed t

kes. Frankie's knuckles stayed white on the wheel for three full seconds before he let go. He'd been drivi

nose, a low sound lik

olded himself from the driver's seat, his

ooded the cabin lik

on bodies crammed against police barricades. Frankie squinted aga

rock ste

veless, simple enough to read as innocence. The September wind caught the hem, lifted it just enough t

her eyes

a narrow channel through the microphones and camera lenses. Evelyn moved through it like water-

back, something sour

hiron screamed into

ine cut through the ambient noise like a

ld Peck

t three thousand dollars an hour in therapy to perform convincingly. He moved fast, long leg

hed toward her elbow

ed three

recisely calibrated confusion. Her lower lip trembled. The wind caught a strand of dark h

into his br

Peck family broken. He held it with two hands, arms extend

he to

rip that seemed to echo off the limestone facade. The docum

le

hutters we

et. Paper drifted against her white skirt, cau

voice carrying to the back r

. Let the microp

ce-perfect, the wounded pride of old money scorned. "You t

oulders beg

acing, white-knuckled. She seemed to shrink inside t

a step forw

lickered there, too fast for any camera to catch-and then he wa

eaming questions about Peck Group's stock price, about breach of

ti's engi

tires, and then the car was gone, a silver blu

that followe

recognizing wounded prey. They pressed closer, lenses

you know about

e hospitalized for

ather disin

said

fragment where her own signature-Evelyn C. Brock-wa

kie

bulk clearing space, his hand finally findi

way,

odily, turning her toward the Lincoln. The

e door. Pushed her in

t roar. He stood there for a moment, breathing hard, t

ed against the door, forehead pressed t

He meant the Pecks. He meant the pr

ri

broken, the voice of a woman who'd

oln in gear and pull

on. For one instant, before she lowered them again, some

lmost like