Silent Sacrifice

"No need," Sloane answered, dabbing her lips with a linen napkin. "Have the driver take me. That's plenty."

Killian's smile was quick, almost boyish. "I'm heading out anyway. It's on my route—let me."

Thirty minutes later, Sloane slid from the sedan at Lancaster Group's front steps. The building's mirrored skin threw back the noon sun, sharp as shattered ice.

Killian leaned toward the open window.