Seraphina Quinn stepped out of the taxi.
The temperature in Kingsland was brutally low.
A northwesterly wind hurled large snowflakes at her, stinging her cheeks.
She had just had surgery for an ectopic pregnancy, and her thin, weak body swayed precariously in the wind, looking as if it could be blown over at any moment.
Clutching her phone in one hand and pulling her black overcoat tighter with the other, Seraphina Quinn walked toward the airport terminal.
Her voice trembled slightly from the cold. "Damian Fairchild."
She spoke his name.
Hearing his name spoken like that sent a wave of inexplicable unease through Damian Fairchild's heart.
It was just like that snowy night five years ago, when she had calmly spoken his name as a prelude to asking for a divorce.
The unease in Damian Fairchild's heart grew with each passing second.
He held his breath, his chest tight with a simmering, overwhelming rage. He asked through gritted teeth, "Tell me, where are you?"
