The warehouse was a tomb of silence, broken only by the ragged, wet sound of Julian Cross fighting for air. Clara Hayes knelt on the concrete, her hands slick with his blood, pressing desperately against the gunshot wound in his side.

"Julian, look at me," Clara ordered, her voice cracking but fie

Three weeks later, the frosted glass doors of the Cross Holdings executive boardroom slid open.

Clara Hayes walked in, the sharp, authoritative click of her heels silencing the low, dangerous murmurs of the men gathered around the massive obsidian table. She wore a tailored, charcoal-gray power su