It seemed like six in the morning on a Thursday was prime time for international flights out of the Motor City, and everyone was running behind. “I’m parking it,” I said, steering the Range Rover into the lane for the parking garage. Violet groaned. And it had nothing to do with the ten dollars it would cost; she just didn’t want to get out of the warm cabin this early in the morning. Money was never an issue with her, which was why I hadn’t bothered telling her about the two million that had come out of the business account to get Henry Rinker off our backs. “I’d like to hold you before I go,” I explained. She rolled her eyes, but I caught the shadows of a smile tickling the edges of her mouth. “She really likes him,” was what she said, changing the topic. I glanced at her. “It’s serious, is it?” “While we were in New York the last time, she saw him again.
