“They found you.”
“Who?”
She whispered six words that made my blood run cold:
“My son is coming for you.”
I looked toward the two men approaching the garage.
Then I noticed something hanging from one man’s wrist.
A watch.
I’d seen it before.
On Mrs. Whitmore’s son.
I grabbed the keys.
There was only one thing I knew for certain now:
The diamond brooch had never been the real crime.
It had been
a distraction.
And the real secret was sitting inside the box in my hands.
The garage door was only half open when I threw the Mercedes into reverse.
The two men were almost at the entrance.
I pressed the accelerator.
The car shot backward, tires screeching against the pavement. One of the men jumped aside, shouting something I couldn’t hear.
I didn’t stop.
I drove three blocks before pulling into a crowded shopping center and finally allowed myself to breathe.
