Amelia was used to the quietness of the penthouse. It wasn't quiet silence, though, but stale, the kind that stayed with her so that each sound she made breathing, the hum of the refrigerator, the gentle tick of the clock seemed too loud.

The quietness this night was different, though. It was expectant. It lingered in the air.

She leaned against the window, arms wrapped around herself, gazing out at the rain-soaked streets far below. New York never slept, but the storm had leached the streets ...