She had her beige leather handbag clutched against her ribs like a shield.

“I’ll leave tonight,” she whispered, her eyes flicking toward the elevators.

“I’ll pack my bags, take my sister and go straight back to Kentucky.

Just tell your old friends to stay away from us.”

“What old friends?” I asked her.

“The men from your old collection days,” she said.

Her sweet lilt had vanished, replaced by tight, breathless panic.

“The ones who paid Megan a visit at her place in February.