Page 30 of Insidious Threats

“I know.” She snuggled back into his side. “But I might owe his daughter.”

15

Early (but not too early) the next morning, Sasha stood on the front steps of Maisy’s townhouse with a glass container filled with bright green juice. She rang the bell and took a step back. The wind had died down overnight, and the day had dawned gray and cold, but somehow bright, as if the sun was up there somewhere behind the swirl of clouds beaming down on her.

Still, it wasn’t exactly warm. She shifted her weight from foot to foot and muttered. “Come on, Maisy.”

Finally, just as she was about to lean on the doorbell with more emphasis, she heard footsteps in the hallway. Then, the scrape of a deadbolt, and the door opened a crack. Maisy’s red and bloodshot eyeball appeared in the small gap. A second later, the door swung wide open.

“For heaven’s sake, what are you doin’ out here in the dead of winter? Get in here.”

Sasha didn’t have to be asked twice. She hustled inside, and Maisy slammed the door shut against the icy air. Sasha appraised her.

“You look awful.”

“Gosh, sugar, you sure know how to make a girl’s day. But I should look awful. I feel awful.” Maisy groaned and clutched her temples.

“Here,” Sasha thrust the neon green drink at her. “It’s Connelly’s hangover cure.”

Maisy narrowed her eyes and studied it suspiciously. “I don’t know …”

“Suit yourself. You can spend your first day as a millionaire nursing a wicked ouzo hangover if you prefer.”

The prospect didn’t seem to appeal to her. She stretched out her hand. “Give it here.”

Sasha handed her the juice, and Maisy sniffed it.

“Don’t smell it or think too much about it. Just drink it.”

“Mmm,” Maisy groaned. “Do I want to know what’s in it?”

“Nope.”

Maisy gave her a doubtful look but took a swig of the juice. “It’s not that bad, actually. Come on, I made coffee, but I can’t stomach it. You can have it, though.”

She shuffled toward the kitchen, and Sasha followed her. She poured herself a mug of Maisy’s serviceable coffee and leaned against the island, watching her friend drink Connelly’s concoction dutifully. She finished and placed the glass on the counter near the sink.

“Well, thanks. Is Naya also getting a home delivery of the green stuff?”

“Nope. She’s Carl’s problem.”

Maisy managed a weak chuckle and headed for her living room where she plopped down in an overstuffed chair. “Last night was fun. This morning, not so much. When those dour-faced lawyer dudes accosted you, I felt sorry for you. Now, I think you got the better end of the deal.”

Sasha took the chair across from her. She decided not to mention that nobody forced Maisy to drink half a bottle of eighty-proof alcohol. Instead, she said, “I want to talk to you before Gabe initiates the wire transfer.”

Maisy blinked at the subject change. “What’s up?”

“Last night, ATJ tracked me down to try to convince me to convinceyouto agree to a smaller payout. She suggested seven hundred and fifty thousand.”

She scoffed. “What difference does a quarter of a million dollars make to Leith Delone?”

“None,” Sasha agreed.

“So what’s her angle?” Maisy wrinkled her brow. “And why are you bringing this to me? Just tell her no.”

“I did tell her no. But I’m obligated to communicate the offer to you. And …”

“And what? What aren’t you telling me?” Suddenly, Maisy was alert.