Tia poured herself a Glenlivet, cold and then hot, soothing as it went down her throat. She stood on the balcony and looked out over the city, the breeze refreshing and reassuring, the hideous and threatening little doll laying face up on the dining room table behind her.

Should I call the cops? she wondered again, having already made and unmade the decision a dozen times in the past ten minutes. They won’t do anything; they wouldn’t even if they could. But, for myself, I’m going to have to figure out who sent that awful thing and why; there’s no other way. I sure can’t rely on that corrupt platoon of jackbooted thugs and zit-faced rookies. And any of them who might know about Longshadows would be even less cooperative, maybe worse.

Another sip of the liquor warmed Tia’s belly, but her blood was still running with a cold chill.

Had to be Shin Lu, Tia reasoned. She’s got some bug up her ass, maybe trying to run me out of the business and keep it for herself.

Okay, Tia had to warn herself, don’t sound too paranoid. Shin Lu has some fair points: the IRS is snooping around, the Feds are coming at us again. If anything, Shin Lu may be the level-headed one between the two of us. And she’s too close to hit me this hard; she’d know I’d figure it out and fire her ass.

No, it can’t be Shin Lu.

But…who?

Tia had to consider the litany of possible suspects, and the length and breadth of that list was considerable: ’there’s the Fields family—they’re wealthier than I am and still upset that their son Carter was working for me. Now that he and Kat are running my Paris division, who knows how much they’ve learned about where to find me? They could have sent that doll, even alerted the IRS, who knows?

The list didn’t end there.

There’s that psychiatrist at UCLA; he swore he’d take me down too. Plus the guy whose girlfriend wound up dumping him after two services in a row; what was her name?

But the fingers of likelihood stretched out fast to the blinding number of possible agitated ex-lovers, family members, rejected applicants, and others who may have been inadvertently and adversely affected by her company and their unique services.

It could be virtually anyone.

* * *

Tia thought about it as long as she could stand to before stripping down and climbing into bed, the sheets soft and cool around her naked body. She fell asleep quickly, the booze numbing her senses and calming her doubts, for a little while at least.

Thunk.

She rolled over, flipping her pillow to reveal the cool underside and burying her face into it.

Thunk.

She pulled her head up and looked around the dark bedroom. The New York night meant the windows were open, curtains drifting inward with a light spring breeze. But that wasn’t the cause of the chill crawling up her spine.

Thunk.

The irregular series of sounds was coming from elsewhere in the apartment, vague and menacing. Tia glanced at the alarm clock, wincing to make out the numbers, blurred with her night’s sleep: 3:15. She sat in the still quiet of her bedroom, muffled footsteps taking a measured cycle around the apartment living room.

Tia pulled the sheets up, slipped out of the bed, and pulled a robe off the hook on her bedroom door.

The short hallway from the bedrooms took her past the bathroom to the living room, lit only by a shaft of moonlight streaming in through the window. But as the minutes crept on, her eyesight acclimated to the dark and things came into clearer view: the furniture, the adjoining kitchen, a man bent over the coffee table.

But the man stood erect, dressed in black with a black stocking pulled over his face to distort his features. His flattened, twisted face caught the moonlight—monstrous, ghoulish.

“Tia,” was all he said, a voice she didn’t recognize.

Her blood ran suddenly cold, hairs standing up on the backs of her arms. She stood for a terrified, paralyzed instant, legs locked and frozen, unable to do anything but hold herself in place to await the coming torture.

The other men came from out of the shadows, the halls and rooms and closets, three more of them in black stockings and dark clothes, converging on Tia before she had a chance to run.

But that didn’t mean she wasn’t ready to fight.

A side kick into one of their guts sent the man stumbling back, and a hard karate chop to another’s neck caused his head to snap to the side, shoulder raised up in an instinctive bid to protect himself, seconds too late.

One of them wrapped his arm around Tia’s neck and pulled tight, her throat instantly on the verge of collapse, her body pulled back and tense. But she threw her elbow into his gut and lurched forward, a swift and powerful move that sent the bigger man flying over her shoulder to crash onto the coffee table, smashing it beneath his weight.

But two of the others had recovered and converged on Tia, each one grabbing an arm. One fist craned around each forearm, another holding her near the wrist, Tia was suddenly pinned between the two men.

She pulled and wrenched but couldn’t free her arms, kicking instead and finding their massive, muscular thighs, the balls of her feet wildly searching for their knees, their balls, any vulnerable point, any way to free herself from their grip.

But there wasn’t one.

The other two men closed in, each one grabbing one of her legs. Tia was suspended between the four men, her body rising and falling with the increasing pitch of her struggle. She looked up at their faceless faces, big hands holding her with unreasonable force, hurting her as they squeezed into her skin.

But they weren’t what she was afraid of most. The breeze came in through the opened balcony door.

I closed it before I went to bed, didn’t I?

But as they dragged her closer to the balcony, Tia knew it didn’t matter. They’d opened it, and they had a terrible reason for doing so.

No, Tia tried to scream out, terror robbing the air from her lungs and the voice from her throat, no, please don’t! But one glance around her told her that they were disinterested, determined, merciless.

Tia begged but she knew it was pointless; she struggled though she knew it was fruitless, her legs and arms twisting and wrenching and kicking as they dragged her through the sliding glass door and out onto the balcony. The sounds of the street were suddenly loud in Tia’s ears, the wind sharp against her bare skin.

Tia tried to ask, Why? Who are you? Who sent you here? I just want to know why!

But they offered no answer, and as she felt her body being cast over the side of the balcony, their hideous hands letting go of her at last, she knew once again that whatever the answer was, it didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered now.

Her stomach lurched, hairs standing up on the backs of her arms as she fell over the side of the building, the bustling street below getting bigger fast as she raced down to meet it.

* * *

Tia sprang up out of bed, visions of her nightmare fresh in her memory: attacked by thugs, falling to her death. She had to reassure herself as she looked around the large, dark bedroom. No, I’m fine; it was just a dream, just a dream, thank God.

But as she dropped herself back down onto her pillow, damp with her sweat, she couldn’t help but wonder what the dream meant, and whether she could figure it out before it was too late.

* * *

Tia tried not to let the dream bother her too much. It had been just a dream after all, and Tia McBride wasn’t the type of woman to be intimidated by a few subconscious concerns.

At least, she had to admit, I didn’t used to be.

Looking into the bathroom mirror, she had to take in the full view of herself the way she’d never present herself to anyone else. Not too bad, Tia had to admit, observing her own round, full breasts, still firm and proud, her unblemished, lightly freckled skin. Her torso was free of the slightest speck of fat but was still curvaceous, womanly, an hour-glass figure that never seemed to run out.

But she was over thirty, so Tia knew time was no longer on her side.

She was determined to make the most of it, the most of everything. That mantra had gotten her to where she was, and would get her wherever she needed to be, and that morning she had to be at the office.

Walking into the lobby, Shin Lu hit her with a sharp glance from her desk.

“Shin Lu,” Tia said curtly, more and more concerned about her chief assistant’s disposition.

But when Shin Lu said, “You have another visitor,” that gave Tia even more to worry about. Tia looked around the empty reception area, and Shin Lu explained, “In your office.”

“In my office? Shin Lu, you know I—”

“I’m afraid he insisted.”

After a confused moment, Tia repeated, “He insisted? Who?” Shin Lu offered no answer, and only a quick entry into her own office would answer the question. Her guest turned from the window with a pleasant smile on his familiar face.

“Hello, Tia.”

Tia was shocked, and given her compromised sense of decorum had to use every bit of strength to retain her composure.

“Marcus Pike!”