His Secret, Her Doom: A Silent Betrayal

stale whiskey. The painting-a bland, abstract piece he' d pa

ribed. I turned the dial, the numbers familiar t

page. The "receipts" of Ethan Scott' s corruption. Beside it lay my old passpo

glasses with plain lenses, and clothes that were deliberately forgettable. I changed quickly, looking

a steady drum against my ribs. The doorman barely glanced at

travelers. I bought a one-way ticket to a small town in rural Lo

, I watched the Capitol dome shrink in the rearview mirro

I hadn' t known in years. When I woke, the urban spraw

passengers filed out to stretch their legs, I saw them. Tw

invest

found the safe empty. My blood ran co

e, their eyes sharp and method

it wouldn' t stand up to a real background che

reached the row in front of me,

g alright?" he asked,

h tired but gentle eyes. He wore simple, p

eptible nod. He had seen the fear

Evening. We' re looking for someone. C

omforting hand on my arm. He looked up at the in

over his driver' s license. "My wife... she doesn' t s

e was an accident. A fire. It left her disfigured. She prefers not t

. I lowered my head, hiding my face, my body

ned with a flicker of pity. He looked at the do

, his voice softer. "Sor

nse back and moved

I didn' t realize

investigators had left the bus.

he said. "You' re in some k

y eyes filling with

ouisiana. It' s where this bus is headed. If you need a place to lay low

saved me. For the first time in five years, som

otepad and wrot

thank me yet. Let' s get