CHAPTER EIGHT
As Riley followed Powell down the hall along with the other FBI agents and Bull Cullen, she wondered …
A witness? Are we really going to get a break this fast?
Years of experience told her that it wasn’t likely.
Even so, she couldn’t help hoping that this time might be different. It would be wonderful to wrap this case up before anyone else was killed.
When the group arrived at a small meeting room, a stout woman in her fifties was pacing inside. She wore heavy makeup and her hair was an unnatural shade of blond.
She hurried toward them. “Oh, this is awful,” she said. “I saw her picture on the news a little while ago, and I recognized her right away. Such a horrible death. But I had a feeling about her—a bad feeling. A premonition, you might even call it.”
Riley’s hope
