“Warm sunlight flowed through verdant oaks, blanketing the gravesite with a golden lattice. Sparrows sang a song of Spring, celebrating new life, a new season. For all the world. But not for Chris Connor. From behind the tinted windows of a black limo, he looked on through binoculars as they lowered the casket into the ground. Unjustly beautiful and dressed in a slender black dress, Marlena held little Robbie’s hand—an image evocative of John F. Kennedy Jr. as a child, saluting his father’s coff...in. I may as well be dead, Chris thought, swallowing the tumor in his throat. But this was the only way. Unless Khrenikov believed him dead, Marlena and Robbie would never be safe. No way around it regardless of what chief of police Benson said. And there was no way in hell Chris could have taken this matter up with the FBI or any other agency. The reach of Khrenikov’s tendrils knew no bounds. Chris winced at the blast of the gunshots. Three rounds, seven rifles. Then the bagpipes. Marlena dabbed her eyes as Colonel Masterson handed her the folded flag.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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