SIENNA’S POV

“Do you know Nigel Murray?”

The question snapped through the air like a whip.

I froze halfway out of my car, fingers still gripping the door handle. The taller man’s voice was calm, too calm — the kind of calm that meant danger was coming. His eyes were cold, deliberate, assessing me like a broken piece of merchandise.

I blinked. “What?”

He stepped closer, the scent of cigarette smoke and gasoline wrapping around me. “You heard me,” he said. “Nigel Murray. ...