Beth sat on the edge of the bed, sipping her margarita. The salt on the rim bit at her lip, but she barely noticed.

This spot.

This exact place three months ago was where she’d sat when the real Kingsley had barged in, furious and unraveling, to confront her.

“What did you do to her, Beth?” he had shouted, voice cracking with fury.

She hadn’t answered. Not with words.

Thomas had stepped from the shadows then, silent as a breath, and driven the syringe into Kingsley’s ...