My husband thought he had finished what he started on the staircase when he locked my ICU door and pressed a pillow over my face. Adrian had already left me shattered inside a near-full-body cast after I confronted him about my life insurance, but what he didn't know was that people were listening, and they were about to hear him confess.

The dark waves of Lake Michigan slammed violently against the hull of the small motorboat.

Rain poured down from the black sky, washing the tear gas residue from my eyes, but my body was screaming in pain. My legs were bare and exposed without the support of the plaster cast, and every bounce of the boat sent blinding shocks of agony up my spine.

Behind me, the boathouse erupted in a massive wall of fire.

I choked back a sob, gripping the steering wheel with numb fingers. Detective Marcus had given his life to give me this one chance. I couldn't let his sacrifice be in vain.

Ahead, the illuminated skyline of Chicago rose out of the fog like a forest of glass and steel.

I steered the boat toward the navy pier docks, dodging the heavy patrol boats scanning the waters with powerful searchlights. Victor Vance had locked down the entire city. Every bridge, every highway, every train station would be crawling with his men.

I brought the boat alongside a deserted maintenance ladder under the pier, killing the engine.

Climbing that ladder with broken legs was the hardest thing I had ever done. Every rung felt like a mountain. I crawled onto the wooden boardwalk, dragging the waterproof laptop bag behind me like an anchor.

I collapsed against a bench, shivering violently, soaked to the bone.

My phone rang in my pocket.

It wasn't a text this time. It was a video call from an unknown number.

I answered it with shaking fingers.