“It’s solid blackmail material, for sure.”

“It would have killed her. She would have left me without a backward glance. Everything I’ve done has been to prevent that from happening. I love my wife, Officer Graham.”

“I don’t doubt that for a moment, Mr. Montclair.”

“Where is Ivy now? What’s her next play?”

“I have no idea. Like I said, we’re looking for her. And we’re going to have protection here around the clock until we find her. I get the sense she’s not done yet.”

“Why? Why would she do this? Why would she target us like this? Is she barking mad, or is she wanting something? Money, fame? What is she after? What does she possibly stand to gain by hurting us like this? To ruin our lives, to take our child from us? What sort of madwoman does such a thing? I don’t understand.”

Graham played with the edge of a place mat. Ethan caught the gesture. She knew something. There was more. He steeled himself.

“What is it? I can tell you’re holding something back.”

Graham looked up, and he saw true pity in her gaze.

“There is one last thing. I need to talk to you about what happened to your wife when she was a teenager.”

Leavin', on a Jet Plane

LEAVIN’, ON A JET PLANE

Paris, France

Things quieted down. Ethan, left alone to write and come to terms with the lies his wife had told him, was under constant watch by the Franklin Police in case Brookes tried to hurt him again. And as a reward for her hard work, Moreno sent Holly Graham to Paris to bring Sutton Montclair home.

The agreements made between the two governments on the charges to be filed against Sutton Montclair and Hank Tomkins were drawn up and executed in near record time, considering. The French had been quite cooperative in the terms of Sutton’s extradition agreement, most likely because the FBI was going to let them have a crack at Hank Tomkins sooner rather than later, an action met with resounding approval by the Parisian police. Such a high-profile murder case solved so quickly made everyone feel better.

Graham arrived at the station on Rue Fabert in the morning, looking sharp considering the red-eye flight she’d just been on. She met with Amelie Badeau for fifteen minutes, signed a great deal of paperwork, and was then escorted to meet Sutton Montclair, who was alone in an interview room.

Sutton brightened when she heard Graham’s soft Southern accent. Relief coursed through her. Whatever her punishment was to be, at least she’d be doing it on home soil.

The cop was pretty in a Tennessee back-roads way: pert nose, white-blond hair, narrow hips, a black-and-gold badge attached to the belt of her gray slacks, a gun strapped to the other side. Young. Excited. Tired.