Chapter 21

That was such a precise, oddly specific amount. Confused, Giselle said, "Sir, even with a late-night surcharge, this trip's worth maybe three or four dollars at most. Don't you think it's a bit too much to ask for over a hundred? I can give you 15 dollars, but if you ask for another dime, we can settle it at the police station." She'd learned the hard way how much power money held. Reagan scoffed. A tightness gripped her chest. So this was what it meant to fall from grace—becoming an easy target. Then Reagan spoke again, his voice cool and steady. "A suite at Griffin Hotel costs about that much." Griffin Hotel. Her memory snapped into focus. That was where she'd woken up that morning. In disbelief, she turned to look at him, swallowing hard. "How do you know that?" she asked, her voice dry. Reagan removed his cap. Instead of answering, he quietly watched her. That was when Giselle finally got a clear look at his face. The inky night seemed to seal the car like a vault. Reaga