She’d love something stronger to fortify her for the coming confrontation—say, four or five glasses of strong red wine—but she didn’t want anything to dull her mind. Or her tongue, for that matter. She felt like she might explode if she didn’t get the chance to finally unload everything she’d kept carefully locked up inside her these past four years. Talking to her sister on the phone earlier had only helped relieve the pressure a little, and she knew her sister had probably alerted their parents the moment she’d gotten off the phone with her. Grace felt bad about that. Everyone was already concerned enough about her without this new complication. Since the terror attack her entire family worried far too much about the dangers of her job. But Grace loved her work and had long ago accepted the inherent risks that came with it. Those risks had never included Alex Rycroft before, however. She rubbed at the back of her neck where the muscles were stiff and sore from the fender bender, and looked around the lounge.
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