Chapter 4: The Baker's Arrival
Mandy's back arched against the cushions as Marty drove into her with a rhythm that had shifted from tentative to thunderous in the space of a few minutes. Her legs were locked around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back, and her nails raked furrows across his shoulders with every thrust. He was learning fast, this boy from the timeless void, and she told him so in a breathless stream of filth that made his ears go red even as his hips kept pounding.
"That's it," she gasped, her head thrown back. "Just like that, baby. Fuck me like you mean it."
"I do," Marty grunted, his brow furrowed with concentration. His red hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat. "I really fucking do."
Beth watched from the armchair where she'd collapsed, a satisfied smile playing at the corners of her mouth. Her own climax was still a warm throb between her thighs, and the sight of Marty finding his confidence with Mandy—her sister, of all people—sent a complicated thrill through her chest. He'd been so unsure when she'd first brought him into the world of the Williamsons, so wide-eyed and eager to please. And now here he was, balls deep in one of the most sexually voracious women she'd ever known, holding his own like he'd been doing it for years.
"Look at him go," Calista murmured, settling onto the arm of the chair beside her. She was still slick with Mai's efforts, her silver hair a wild halo around her flushed face. "He's come a long way from the guy who asked if we had 'sexual congress' in this century."
Beth snorted. "I taught him the proper terminology. He's a fast learner."
From her position beneath Marty, Mandy let out a moan that turned into a laugh. "He's got a couple other things I've been teaching him too." She arched up, her mouth finding Marty's ear. "Tell my sister how I taught you to use your tongue, baby."
Marty's face went crimson, but there was a glint in his eye that hadn't been there an hour ago. "She, uh. She said I needed to find the clitoris first. Like, almost always."
"My own personal student," Mandy purred, rolling her hips in a slow, devastating circle that made Marty groan. "You want extra credit tonight?"
Before he could answer, the front door swung open with a burst of warm, salt-tinged air. Two figures stood silhouetted against the amber glow of the porch light, both carrying white paper boxes with a familiar logo printed on the side: a stylized loaf of bread with the words Proof & Provision beneath it.
Rick Williamson stepped inside first, his kind face breaking into a grin the moment he registered what he was walking into. He was holding three boxes stacked precariously, and he set them down on the dining table with exaggerated care before turning back to take in the scene. His dirty blonde hair was slightly tousled, flour still dusting his forearms, and he smelled faintly of yeast and cinnamon.
"Couldn't wait until the first night is over, Bug?" He shook his head, his grin never faltering. "They might have had jet lag."
Stacy stepped in behind him, and at forty-eight, she was still a force of nature—dark hair now streaked with silver, cut in a sharp bob that framed her face, her body still carrying the lean, coiled strength of a woman who'd spent decades as a bodyguard. She took in the scene with a sweep of her sharp eyes: the tangled pile of naked limbs on the couch, the girl sprawled across the coffee table, the couple on the floor, the champagne pooling in sticky puddles.
"I'll bet this is Mai's doing," she said, her voice dry as dust.
Mandy didn't even pause. She was still impaled on Marty's cock, her hips grinding in a lazy rhythm while she twisted to look at the newcomers. A wide, wicked grin spread across her face. "You should check on Judy upstairs—she's inspecting for termites with Bruce and Felicity."
Rick's eyebrows shot up. "Termites."
"Urgent termites," Mandy confirmed. "Costly ones. She needed a full, thorough investigation."
A beat of silence. Then Rick and Stacy exchanged a look—that particular look of two people who had known this family for decades and had long since stopped being surprised by anything any of them did. They shared a quiet laugh.
"Well," Rick said, already unbuttoning his shirt with practiced ease. "We did bring pastries. Seemed a shame to let them go to waste."
"The pastries can wait," Stacy replied, sliding out of her jacket. Beneath it she wore a simple tank top, and the toned arms that emerged looked like they could still bench press half the people in the room. "I want to see this termite situation for myself."
They climbed the stairs together, shedding clothes as they went. Rick's shirt hit the landing first, followed by his jeans. Stacy's tank top came off next, and her bra was not far behind. By the time they reached the top of the stairs, they were both naked, their bodies moving with the easy familiarity of twenty-plus years of knowing each other.
The sounds from the upstairs bedroom had been building steadily—Judy's delighted laugh, Bruce's thick Scottish grunts, Felicity's high, keening moans. But when Rick and Stacy pushed open the door, the scene inside made Stacy stop dead.
Judy was propped against the headboard, legs spread wide and still clad in nothing but her heels. Her dyed-blonde hair was coming loose from its elegant chignon, and her carefully maintained composure had shattered into a grin of pure, unadulterated glee. She was watching Felicity ride Bruce with frantic energy, the young woman's blonde hair whipping around her shoulders, her sweat-slicked back arching with every downward thrust. Bruce lay flat on the mattress beneath her, his thick arms gripping her hips, his face buried in the pillow as he groaned in pleasure.
"You know," Judy said, her voice carrying the kind of unhurried delight of a woman watching her favorite soap opera, "I've had sex in this room, but I don't think the bed's ever been this well used. Little help there?"
Stacy was already moving, her body finding its rhythm without a second thought. She climbed onto the bed and positioned herself behind Bruce, her hands sliding down his broad back until she found his ass. "Mind if I help?"
Bruce grunted, turning his head just enough to catch a glimpse of her. "As long as you're not hunting for termites too."
"Don't worry, I'll be thorough."
She positioned herself behind him and guided her fingers downward, finding his entrance wet already with Felicity's juices. Bruce moaned something in Gaelic, and Stacy laughed — a low, genuine sound that rumbled in her chest. Rick watched Felicity's eyes as Stacy guided herself against Bruce; she was breathing harder, her eyes wide as she rode his massive cock while his own thickened length pressed against her, ready to push deeper.
"You're gonna shear in half, son," Stacy said to Bruce as she aligned herself. "Y'alright?"
"Aye," Bruce grunted, his voice strained. "Always."
Rick stepped beside Judy's head as Stacy and Felicity began to move together. She reached up, grabbed his cock, and guided him forward. "Get over here, boy. I'm older than your mother, but I'm not dead yet."
Rick laughed, his hands finding her hips. "I wouldn't dream of it, Aunt Judy." He knelt over her, aligning himself with her entrance. "You sure about this?"
"Son, I've been sure for years. Your grandmother just didn't have the balls." She pulled him down, and Rick slid into her with a mutual groan. Judy's head tipped back, her carefully maintained hair finally collapsing into a silver-gold mess.
Sweat glistened in the golden lamplight, creating a sheen over intertwined limbs. The air grew thick with the sounds of sex—wet, rhythmic, animal. Four bodies, each moving to their own tempo, tangled together on the bed as the oldest among them cheered them on with vivid, salty encouragement.
"Bug's got a good influence on you, Felicity, but your form's still off—squeeze him when you come down, dear," Judy instructed, her voice laced with amusement and breathy delight as Rick bottomed out inside her.
Felicity whimpered, her thighs trembling as Bruce's cock pistoned into her. Rick, buried deep in Judy, met Stacy's eyes over Bruce's back. She gave him a sharp nod, a grin that was all teeth, before she shifted her own hips, letting Bruce find her with a loud, guttural groan.
Stacy's eyes rolled back as Bruce filled her from behind, the third body in their dance. "Oh, that's—damn."
Rick reached out and grabbed Stacy's hand, squeezing. The way Stacy's fingers curled around his, her breath hitching in her throat as Bruce slammed into her, sent a bolt of raw arousal straight through him.
Mandy really is a bad influence, he thought. Then Judy groaned beneath him, and he stopped thinking entirely.
Downstairs, the orgy was far from over.
Mai had sprawled out across the floor, one leg draped over the edge of the coffee table, watching the surrounding chaos with a lazy, satisfied smile. She was still leaving a small ocean of space between herself and Katrina and Ben, who were going at it with renewed vigor on the sheepskin rug. Jess had repositioned herself so she was straddling Katrina's chest, her cunt in the dark-haired woman's face while she leaned forward to suck Katrina's nipples with lavish attention.
"Fucking hell, Jess," Ben grunted, his hips driving into Katrina from behind. "You're going to suffocate her."
"She can handle it," Jess murmured, her mouth moving to the other nipple. "She's been handling a lot worse for thirty years. Haven't you, love?"
Katrina's answer was muffled, lost in the flesh of Jess's cunt. But her hips bucked harder, which seemed to be all the confirmation Jess needed.
Mai watched all of this with an air of detached amusement, propped up on one elbow. She caught Mandy's eye across the room—Mandy had finally let Marty go, and the two of them lay on the couch beneath a cooling sheen of sweat, Marty's chest heaving even as she ran a hand lazily down his stomach.
"That's a good boy," Mandy murmured, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. "Good first night. You'll be a natural in no time."
"I don't think I can move," Marty confessed.
"You don't need to. I'll take care of you."
Mai turned back to the room at large, stretched, and let out a contented sigh. "You know," she said, loud enough to carry over the ambient moans. "I have to wonder. Why does everyone automatically assume I'm the one responsible for these sorts of parties?"
Katrina surfaced from Jess's cunt, gasping for air. She was flushed to the roots of her black hair, dripping with exertion, and her storm-grey eyes were glassy with pleasure. "I barely know you, and I can already tell this is your sort of thing."
Mai's exhibitionist streak was legend. She'd grown up with her mother's adventuring spirit, and the Harata women had never been shy about nudity or desire. Mai had heard enough stories about Yukio's exploits to know that she was running true to form. Still, she raised an eyebrow.
"What makes you say that?"
"The way you move," Katrina managed. "You're everywhere at once. And you're not surprised by any of this." She gestured vaguely at the chaos around them: the naked bodies, the spilled champagne, the distant sounds of her mother's generation doing unspeakable things to each other upstairs. "You look like you expected it."
Mai grinned, showing teeth. "I did. I have a very good instinct for these things." She rose to her feet and padded across the room toward Beth and Calista, who were watching the unfolding scene with twin expressions of feline satisfaction. "You two look underoccupied."
Calista stretched, her silver hair spilling down her back. "I was just catching my breath. Mandy has very agile fingers."
"Mandy has a lot of things," Beth agreed. She looked over at Marty, who was still slumped against the couch cushions, eyes closed, chest heaving. Something in her expression softened. "He's doing better. I was worried about him."
"He seems to have found his stride," Calista said. "That one's got the O'Connor stamina."
"Portia's gene," Beth said, and there was a note of pride in her voice. "He's more like her than he likes to admit. He certainly doesn't take after his father."
Mai slid between them, her hands finding waists and shoulders with easy confidence. "Plenty of energy left in this room. Unless you two want to just keep watching me all night."
Calista's golden eyes flicked to Mai, a wicked light kindling there. "I don't mind watching you at all. But I might want to do more than watch."
"What did you have in mind?"
Calista's hand trailed down Mai's stomach. "Why don't I show you?"
Mai's laugh was dark and rich. She took Calista's hand and drew her up off the couch, leading her toward the hallway that led to the bedrooms. She looked back over her shoulder at Beth. "You coming?"
Beth watched them go, a strange expression flickering across her face. She looked over at Marty, who had finally caught his breath and was sitting up, his gaze fixed on her with a tenderness that made her chest ache.
"You okay?" she asked, moving toward the couch.
"Yeah." He ran a hand through his hair, looking dazed but content. "I think I got the hang of it."
Beth slid onto the couch beside him, her hand finding his. "You did good, love. Makes me proud, seeing you like this." She tilted her head, studying him. "Mandy wore you out, huh?"
A blush crept up his freckled cheeks. "She's.Intense."
"She's a force of nature. They all are." Beth's thumb traced circles on the back of his hand. "But you held your own. That's more than a lot of people can say on their first night in this house."
"Your family's kind of overwhelming." He paused. "In a good way."
"In a very good way." She leaned in and kissed him, soft and warm. "Now get some rest. We're going to need our energy for round two."
Marty's eyes went wide. "There's a round two?"
Beth's grin was full of mischief. "There's always a round two."
Outside, the night pressed close around the beach house—a blanket of humidity and salt and distant music from some neighbor's party. A pair of eyes watched the house from the cover of a copse of palm trees two lots down. The woman holding them was tall, sharp-featured, and dressed in midnight-dark linen that was perfectly tailored. She had the patient, coiled stillness of a predator.
Evelyn Shaw had been out of prison for eleven months. In that time, she had rebuilt her network with ruthless efficiency—re-establishing contacts, liquidating hidden assets, and confirming her old intelligence networks were still in place. Her money, yes, and her influence, and her reach—these things had survived her imprisonment largely intact.
But her vengeance had been denied.
She had plotted to secure that ancient Egyptian priestess, and her defeat had been public and absolute—and it had been orchestrated, in no small part, by two young women who had no business being as clever as they were. A Mandy Williamson. A Felicity Winkle. The names burned in her chest, and she had spent months learning everything about them, their families, their patterns, their weaknesses.
And tonight, she had found a new one.
She'd come to Miami to scout—to see the beach house, the new bakery, the network of friends and family that Mandy had built around herself. She'd expected to find a defensible compound, armed to the teeth with Wand glamour and Green Moon mischief.
Instead she'd found an orgy.
Evelyn Shaw's lip curled in something between disgust and grudging respect. The house was lit up like a Christmas tree, the windows open, and the sounds of moans and laughter drifted out into the humid night. She'd watched through a gap in the curtains as the silver-haired half-elf had arrived with a dark-haired woman—a woman Evelyn recognized from her intelligence files as the rescued Katrina Harlow.
The void survivor.
The one who'd been trapped for thirty years.
The one who had been tricked by Aemelia, the elf who had started the whole mess in the first place.
Evelyn filed that away. Katrina Harlow was a beautiful woman, clearly emotionally vulnerable and just as clearly still adjusting to the world she'd been ripped out of. She was staying in the beach house. She was surrounded by the extended Williamson-Winkle-Bryant chaos.
She was a perfect lever.
Mandy and Felicity had embarrassed Evelyn, had humiliated her, had destroyed a plan that had taken her nearly two decades to set in motion. They'd done it with resourcefulness and nerve and a network of human connections so tangled and varied that she still had trouble mapping it. They were hard to get to directly.
But Katrina was a blank spot in the middle of it all. A new face. A new weakness. A woman who had spent three decades in a void, isolated, alone, desperate for connection.
A woman who might be desperate enough to trust the wrong person.
Evelyn smiled.
She watched until the lights in the living room dimmed, until the sounds shifted from the frantic, open-throated abandon of the orgy to something quieter, more intimate. She watched until the last naked silhouette disappeared into the deeper recesses of the house, heading for bedrooms, for tangled sheets, for rest and comfort and sexual satisfaction.
Then she turned and melted into the darkness.
She had work to do. A new identity to build. A new approach to test. She didn't need to attack Mandy and Felicity directly, not yet. She needed to get close.
And Katrina Harlow was the perfect way in.
Tomorrow, she would begin. She would establish herself in the neighborhood—a new arrival, a sympathetic stranger. She'd been told by her sources that Stacy was out and about—she wondered if she knew about this place. She could weave a story easily enough. She'd spent her entire life weaving stories.
What mattered was that at the center of that story, there would be a dark-haired woman with storm-grey eyes and a dancer's body. A woman who had spent three decades alone. A woman who would, Evelyn was certain, be very receptive to a whispered story of her own.
The night closed in around her, and the sound of the waves swallowed her footsteps.
Inside the house, Katrina was dreaming—dreaming of a warm body beside her, a future she could finally touch. She didn't know about the shadow that had watched her, the plan taking shape in the darkness.
Not yet.
The steam from the hot tub rose in lazy ribbons, catching the glow of the string lights strung across the patio. It coiled around their naked bodies like a living thing, obscuring angles and softening edges until they were all just shapes in the warm, churning water.
Katrina let her head fall back against the tiled edge, staring up at the star-scattered sky. Her body was a map of pleasant aches—her thighs sore, her cunt tender, her lips swollen from a hundred kisses. Three decades in a void had left her numb; the past hours had made her feel everything all at once.
"I still can't believe that happened," she murmured."What part?" Mandy asked from across the tub. She was wedged between Beth and Calista, her head resting on her sister's shoulder, her limbs still loose and content. "The arrival party? The fact that my aunt helped initiate the two youngest people in the house? Or the fact that Rick brought pastries to an orgy?"
"The pastries were a nice touch," Calista said. "Factoring in the carbs was necessary."
Rick, sitting beside Katrina, let out a low laugh. "I figured the bread would be needed for sustenance. And I wasn't wrong—you all ate enough for a small army."
"High metabolisms," Beth said, patting her flat stomach. "It's a Williamson trait."
Katrina turned her head to look at Rick. The steam softened his features, made his dirty-blonde hair curl around his temples in damp ringlets. He was a kind man, she'd learned that quickly—the kind of kindness that didn't perform itself, that just existed quietly in the way he moved through the world. He'd looked at her like she was a person, not a tragedy.
"You really didn't mind?" she asked, her voice barely carrying over the gurgle of the jets. "With everything that happened tonight. I just sort of assumed you'd think I was being presumptuous."
"Minding and not minding are different things." Rick offered a crooked smile. "I've spent enough time around this family to know that when the mood hits, you don't question it. You just move with it." That earned him a chorus of groans and one genuine laugh from Katrina.
"Was that a pun?" Mandy asked, her voice flat with accusation. "Was my brother being intentionally lewd? I'm so proud of him."
"It wasn't intentional," Rick said, but he was grinning. "It's just the way words come out sometimes."
"Sure it is." Calista stretched, her silver hair cascading over the edge of the tub as she moved to a more comfortable position. "You and Stacy seem good, by the way. The way she looked at you before she left—she's still completely gone for you."
Rick's chest swelled visibly with warmth. "She's something else. Twenty-plus years of knowing her, and I still feel like I'm the luckiest man alive every time she walks into a room." He looked at Katrina, and something softer stole across his features. "That's what I want for you, you know. Someone who looks at you like that."
Katrina's throat tightened. "One step at a time, I think. I'm still figuring out how to be a person again."
"That's fair. It's more than fair, actually." His hand found hers under the warm water and squeezed gently. Just a press of skin on skin—no demand, no expectation. "And you've got time. You've got nothing but time."
They sat in companionable silence for a moment, the only sounds the gurgle of the jets and Mai's distant singing from the bathroom. She was three verses into a particularly bawdy sea shanty about a sailor's wife and a cargo hold full of rum.
"Anyway," Mandy said, stretching her arms above her head. "Enough about romance and feelings. Katrina, what do you actually want to do on this visit? We've got three days before you head back to Chicago."
Katrina considered the question. She'd thought about it during the flight down, the endless possibilities of what she could do with her first true vacation in thirty years. But now that the moment was here, all her answers felt inadequate.
"I don't know," she admitted. "I just want to enjoy the sights. I haven't seen anything new in a long time." There was a pause, and then she added, her voice a little wry, "Miami seems like a good place to start."
"You've come to the right city." Calista was already moving, her hair dripping rivulets down her shoulders as she shifted to face Katrina. "I can show you around. The beach, the art deco district, the little cafés that don't show up in any guidebook. I know this city better than I know the back of my own hand."
"My schedule's pretty loose," Mandy added with a grin. "I can train my new hires remotely. I'd kill for a few days of sun and sightseeing."
"Same here," Beth chimed in. Her smile was warm, but there was something sly in it—the photographer's eye already calculating angles and light. "I could use some fresh material. And a day with Katrina sounds like the best kind of inspiration."
Rick shook his head, a rueful smile tugging at his lips."Sounds perfect. Wish I could join, but I've got to run the bakery. I'm still training a manager to take over for me when I'm out." He paused, and the next words came out more slowly, weighted with something that made the air in the hot tub feel thicker. "But if you'd like—when I'm done with my shift—I could show you a few places you might not find on your own. There's a little cove I found a couple weeks ago. Best view of the sunset in Miami."
"That sounds lovely." Katrina's voice was soft. "I'd like that."
"Good."
The word hung between them, simple and warm and temporary. The silence that followed was a comfortable one, disturbed only by the gurgle of the jets and the distant crash of the ocean. The water felt like silk against her skin, a feeling she had learned to savor in the brief weeks since her rescue, when every sensation felt new and overwhelming.
Then Katrina felt it. A shift in the water's movement, a subtle press against her thigh that was unmistakably deliberate. It happened so smoothly she almost thought she'd imagined it. Then she felt it again—the solid, unmistakable thickness of Rick's cock, bobbing against her leg in the churning water.
Her breath caught.
She didn't move. She didn't pull away. She just sat there, heart suddenly thick in her throat, as Rick's voice came low and level beside her. The words were casual, almost conversational."So. You want to keep holding that under the water, or do you want to do something else with it?"
The laughter and chatter around them faltered. In the space of a heartbeat, the air changed calorie by calorie, thickening into something charged and still.
Katrina's entire body flushed.
"I—I didn't mean to—" She started to pull her hand back, but Rick's fingers closed over her wrist, gentle but firm.
"I said I don't mind." His voice was still low, still casual, but there was no mistaking the solid, unashamed length of him pressing against her thigh. "I've noticed you looking at me all afternoon. And I don't think you were trying to be sneaky about it."
"I wasn't. I mean—I didn't know I was." Katrina swallowed hard. The words came out in a rush, then faltered."I'm sorry. I don't want to make things weird. You're Calista's brother, and everyone trusts me here, and I just got here, and you're with Stacy, and—"
"Mandy." Rick didn't raise his voice, but it cut through her rambling like a blade. His gaze hadn't moved from hers. "What's my relationship status?"
"Complicated," Mandy answered immediately. "Everyone knows it, and everyone's fine with it. Stacy and Rick share a condo, but Stacy is best friends with Jan O'Connor. The two of them have never been exclusive, and we all pretend not to notice because the arrangement works."
"Thank you." Rick looked back at Katrina, and the quiet in his voice now was a different kind of quiet. "Stacy knows about this house and everyone in it. She also knows I'm a grown man with needs. She's never questioned them."
Katrina's chest felt like a drum. "I just don't want to be a problem."
"You're not." His thumb traced a lazy arc across her hip, the gesture almost casual. Then he moved her hand from his thigh. He lifted it out of the water and pressed it to his chest, right over his heart. "You're not a problem, Katrina. You're a person I find attractive, and I want to kiss you. But only if you want me to."
"Rick—"
"Take your time." His hand was warm over hers. "I'm not going anywhere."
The words weren't a demand. They weren't a line. They were simply true, and the truth of them loosened something in her chest that she hadn't known was wound tight. She had spent three decades frozen, waiting for a rescue that never came. She had spent the months after her rescue fumbling through a world that kept moving while she remained still.
Wanted. That was the word. Rick looked at her the way she had once dreamed of being looked at—like she was a discovery, not a burden.
She leaned forward in the warm water and kissed him.
It was soft at first, tentative, her lips brushing his in a question. Rick answered it with a low sound that vibrated against her mouth, his hand coming up to cup the back of her neck. Water cascaded down her shoulders as he deepened the kiss, and the only thing that existed in the world was the warmth of his mouth, the slow stroke of his tongue, the solid press of his body against hers.
When she pulled back, they were both breathless. The others had gone quiet, watching with a mix of surprise, approval, and naked curiosity. Mandy and Beth exchanged a look—the kind of look that carried an entire conversation in a single glance.
"Well," Mandy said finally, her voice pitched with approval. "I did not see that coming. But I'm all for it."
Calista's golden eyes were luminous. "Of all the things I expected to happen tonight, my brother starting something with you was very far down the list." She smiled, and it held genuine warmth. "Glad he did it."
Katrina's cheeks were aflame. She opened her mouth to say something light, something that would dissolve the moment, but Rick was already moving. He rose from the water with an unselfconscious grace, water streaming down his thighs, his cock standing at attention with a shamelessness that sent a pulse of heat through her, those same thighs damp and bare and utterly distracting.
"We can talk about the rest later." He took her hand, and his eyes were serious now, dark with intent. "Right now, I'd like to finish a conversation we started in the kitchen earlier. You know the one."
"Rick," she breathed. "I don't—what about—"
He leaned in and kissed her again, stealing the rest of the sentence from her mouth. She melted into it, tasted salt and the faint sweetness of the champagne he'd been sipping all night. When he pulled away, he was grinning.
"My answer's yes, by the way," he said softly. "If you were wondering."
Without waiting for a reply, he led her out of the hot tub, water streaming down both their bodies. The warm night air raised goosebumps on her bare skin, but she barely noticed. Her attention was fixed on the man before her, watching the easy, unashamed sway of his hips as he climbed the steps to the patio door.
Behind them, Calista watched them go. Her golden eyes caught Mandy's.
"Well," Mandy murmured, a grin spreading across her face. "I definitely didn't see that coming." She and the others fell into quiet laughter, settling deeper into the hot tub, the mood light and warm. Mai's voice had escalated from the shower to a triumphant wail that punctuated the moment. The night, it seemed, was nowhere near done with any of them.
As Rick pushed the door open and led Katrina inside, there was a woman in the darkness beyond the patio. She had been watching the house all evening, waiting for a moment like this.
Evelyn Shaw allowed herself a small, thin smile before she sheathed her binoculars and retreated into the shadows of the palm trees. This new information would be valuable indeed.