Page 1 of The Perfect Revenge (Jessie Hunt #41)

Veronica Sterling was afraid to move.

She was currently sitting at the edge of Emma’s bed in their Brentwood mansion, where she’d just completed singing the theme song to the TV show Friends for the sixth time tonight. She never thought she’d get sick of the ditty, but she was close now. It was her own fault.

At some point, she'd gotten tired of the traditional bedtime lullabies and started singing slowed-down versions of her favorite songs.

Songs like Rihanna's "Umbrella" and Taylor Swift's "All Too Well" might not seem like natural lullabies, but if you dragged them out and gave them that cradlesong vibe, they worked just fine.

It appeared to have worked, as Emma was now softly whistling through her nose, as she often did when she was truly settled in to sleep.

So Veronica gently pushed herself up from the bed, adjusted the sheets around her daughter, and tiptoed out the door.

After carefully closing it behind her, she headed downstairs to pour herself a well-deserved late-night half-glass of Chablis.

As she made her way down the stairs, an especially raucous rumble of thunder made the walls shake slightly.

She winced, hoping that Emma hadn't noticed.

When she finally got downstairs and into the kitchen, she allowed herself to exhale heavily.

It was silly, really. She'd been holding her breath until now, as if her breathing would disturb Emma, when loud booms echoed through the house every thirty seconds or so.

She left the kitchen lights off and used the one from the refrigerator to guide her as she poured her glass. She was about to close the fridge door when she caught a glimpse of herself in the reflection of the window over the sink. She wished she hadn’t.

Veronica knew she was an attractive woman.

But at this late hour, after a long day, and in the unflattering light from the refrigerator, she thought she looked all of her 33 years.

With her makeup off and her brown hair unkempt from briefly lying in the bed beside Emma, she wasn't at her best. But who cared?

Emma didn't seem to. Nor did Gray. So why should she?

She turned away from the window and shut the fridge door. A sudden flash of lightning illuminated the kitchen. She jumped slightly. Before the light disappeared, she noticed that the door leading from the kitchen to the side yard was slightly ajar.

She took a deep breath, trying not to get too frustrated.

Gray was notorious for forgetting to close and lock doors, but he was usually pretty good about it at night.

Apparently, he'd need a reminder. She was tempted to go upstairs right now and shake him awake to give him one.

But that would probably do more harm than good. So she decided to let it go for now.

She put her glass on the breakfast bar and walked over to close the door. She was just turning the lock when she felt a sharp prick in the back of her neck, followed by an odd burning sensation.

As she reached for the affected area, she suddenly felt funny, like she wasn’t in control of her body