Chapter 7

The drive from Boston General Hospital to the financial district was usually a twenty-minute crawl through aggressive traffic. Today, it felt like a funeral procession.

Harper gripped the steering wheel of her battered Ford pickup, her knuckles white, her eyes darting anxiously to the p

Chapter 8

Julian Thorne rubbed his temples, leaning back against the plush leather interior of the town car as it sped through the rain-slicked streets of Boston. His head was pounding with a dull, rhythmic ache.

"Sir, we should be at the residence in five minutes," his driver, Thomas, called bac

Chapter 9

"Are you absolutely sure you should be out of bed?"

Harper Quinn’s voice cut through the rhythmic, mechanical hum of the large-format printer in the corner of her cramped spare bedroom.

Clara Vance didn’t look up from the sprawling architectural blueprint pinned to the makeshift draft