another woman’s hand.
I turned to the window and whispered, mostly to myself,
“Make sure they see it. Make sure they believe it.”
The driver didn’t respond. But he pressed harder on the gas.
Three minutes later, the crash echoed through the trees. A blast of fire lit the side of the mountain like lightning from hell.
The car rolled twice, then exploded again–fuel tank ruptured, heat spilling into the sky.
2
People saw it. People screamed. A shepherd down the hill called it in.
They found a body inside–burned beyond recognition.
A twisted, melted watch lay next to it, engraved with initials: Danica. And a charred ID half-melted to the leather wallet still read:
DANICA MONROE
HARVICK’S POV
My phone rang just as I was pouring Elodie her tea.
I didn’t even look at the name, I just answered, annoyed.
“Boss! Boss, it’s Danica. Ms. Danica… she…she died, sir. Car crash just ten minutes ago!”
