Chapter 1 - THE HOTEL ROOM CONFESSIONThe air in Room 412 of the Baltimore downtown motel smelled of cheap bleach and old cigarettes.
Malcolm leaned forward across the scarred wooden table, his knuckles bruised, his dark eyes shadowed by days of hiding. He looked at me—Sarah—like I was a ghost he didn't expect to see walk through his door.
"You're Mark’s wife," Malcolm murmured, his voice a gravelly whisper. "You shouldn't be here. The men who want that sedative don't care who you are."
"My seven-year-old daughter nearly died because of that sedative, Malcolm," I said, my voice shaking with a cold, terrifying fury as I slammed a manila folder onto the table. "You told me on the phone that Mark bought it from you. Why?"
Malcolm let out a dry, humorless laugh, running a scarred hand over his stubbled jaw. "Bought it? Honey, Mark didn't buy it. He traded for it. Your golden-boy husband has been skimming high-grade anesthetics from the pharmaceutical logistics company he manages, laundering them through underground clinics to pay off his three-hundred-thousand-dollar gambling debt to the Italian Syndicate."
My breath caught in my throat. The room seemed to tilt sideways.
"And my sister, Rachel?" I forced the words past the tight knot in my throat. "She admitted she poured the lemonade. Was she working with him?"
Malcolm shook his head slowly, a grim smile touching his lips. "That’s the funny part, Mrs. Ward. Mark didn't want Emma poisoned. He wanted you to take the fall for embezzling the company funds, using Rachel as his witness. But Rachel had her own agenda. She didn't want to frame you for embezzlement..."
Malcolm leaned closer, his eyes narrowing. "Rachel wanted Emma out of the way because of what your daughter found in your sister's purse last week."
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Before Malcolm could finish his sentence, a red laser dot flickered across his chest.
CRACK!
