My husband shoved me, shattering the bathroom mirror. His mother sneered, “Clean up this disgusting mess.” But as I fell, my husband roared, “What’s in your pocket?!” The red LED of my federal distress fob pulsed. Denied the third click, I threw myself onto the broken glass, and…

something unintelligible.

Thorne didn’t hesitate. Survival instinct overrode his loyalty. He lunged for his briefcase, desperately trying to sweep the unsigned asset transfer documents back into the leather portfolio.

“Leave it!” Vance hissed, his eyes darting frantically around the room.

Before Thorne could secure the latches, a deafening, structural continue reading …