Schwartz

He stopped as he crossed the foyer of the building housing the offices of a local influential politician who was on Lucien’s payroll. A figure in a black skirt and smart jacket, her hair in a bun at the nape of her neck, seemed vaguely familiar. Slim and tall, her dark brown hair and the way she moved her head made him pause.

He knew this woman, he thought, frowning.

She turned at that moment and it came to him.

Of course, Aiyana Laughing Water Preston, the ...