Rachel sat in a chair at her kitchen table, cradling a hot mug of tea in her hand. She had no idea how long she'd been sitting there. Hours, probably. Gabe had tried repeatedly to get her to go to bed but she seemed stuck in one place, unable to move. The shock of seeing Lincoln Harris walk into her house, in a role she never would have ascribed to him, learning he headed a global terrorist organization, had frozen her into virtual immobility. And that he had been cold-hearted enough ...