The clearly naked human stood in front of her, wrapped in one of her mother’s well-worn pink towels. How had Madeline stayed off the grid for so long, thought Lana? She needed more information, so she decided to press her pretense of being in the wrong room further.

“I know for a fact that my aunt, Jane Matthews, is in apartment 258. What the hell are you doing in here?” Lana started to push past Madeline into the room.

Madeline was stunned with fear. She knew this woman could kill her in an instant, and from what John Hunt had told them, this Agent in particular would probably enjoy it. But she could not let this woman into this room if for no other reason than the simple fact that her mother could be back any moment.

“Look, I don’t know who the hell Jane Matthews is,” said Lana, allowing the panic she had been suppressing to show, “but she does not live here. This is my mother’s apartment, Sarah Cavanagh, and she has lived here for several years now.”

“And you? What are you doing here?” quizzed Lana, standing face-to-face with Madeline and challenging her.

Madeline’s towel was slipping and she thought about letting it fall, but knew that such an act would not faze this woman, if you could even call this thing a woman. No, Madeline had to say something believable, she knew that she needed a reason that she had been staying here for almost six months, and her mind did not have to work hard to find one.

As she opened her heart to the only reason that she might have been in hiding for so long, the tears that came to her eyes were genuine. It was compounded by a deepening fear and stress and that helped her emotions run free, but when she allowed herself to think about James, about what had happened to him, she found she was still filled with unprocessed grief. And now here she stood facing one of the people who had ordered that death, and she could do nothing to avenge the man she’d loved. She could not hurt this murderer. She had no weapon at her disposal that would bring this bitch down. Though she wanted nothing more than to lash out at the almighty cunt standing in front of her, Madeline knew she could not hope to win that fight. Not today, not yet.

But nor did she have to completely suppress her anger and hatred for this murdering, unholy bitch. The woman had barged into her mother’s room and because of that Madeline had every right to be angry, even if she bought the cover story Lana had used. So Madeline took a deep breath, allowed her rage to build up inside her, and then let it rip: