Genny had been shivering uncontrollably by the time they had returned. The rosy bloom that had been in her cheeks when they’d left the penthouse had entirely faded, leaving her wan and pale. He’d hustled her off to take a hot bath the second after they’d removed their coats. He’d just spoken to Joe McMannis, an ex-Army buddy of his who worked as a private investigator in Indianapolis. Maybe he was paranoid, but Sean suddenly had a burning need to know the exact whereabouts of Albert Rook. He knew it didn’t make sense, but the hackles that had been raised by the report of the fire at Genny’s house had turned into a sudden, sure prescience when he’d seen those muddy footprints on the floor of her boutique and felt the draft of cool air emanating from the back of the building. Something wasn’t right. Genny was in danger. And when he thought of Genny being threatened, his mind automatically went to Albert Rook. Maybe it was because part of him had been waiting for the other shoe to drop ever since Max Sauren had been found shot dead in his car in an abandoned warehouse parking lot on the north side of Chicago.
