The Silent Trophy Wife's Lethal Comeback

The lock clicked behind them. The sound was final. The room smelled of ylang-ylang-someone had lit candles.

Dennie walked straight to the window and ripped the curtains open. Pitch black. Rain smashed against the glass. A two-story drop.

Holmes took off his jacket and threw it on the sofa. He loosened his tie.

"Don't bother," he said. "The windows have security film. And the Dobermans are out."

She turned, putting her back to the glass. "What do you want?"

He poured two glasses of whiskey. "To talk business. Real business."

"I thought we were done. Twenty million. I leave."

"That was the old valuation," he said, walking toward her. "Now, I'm re-evaluating the asset."

He tossed his phone onto the bed. It showed a photo of Dennie entering the cyber café.

"Who are you working for?" he demanded. "Knowles? My cousin?"

Dennie froze. He thought she was a spy.

Her mind raced. Spy is better than Witness. Spies go to jail. Witnesses get executed by the cartel.

She lowered her eyes. "If I were... what would you do?"

Holmes slammed his hand against the glass next to her head. "I'd bury you in litigation until you died in a federal prison. Unless..."

"Unless what?"

"Unless you give me a child. Secure my vote. Then you can go."

Dennie stared at him. "You're insane. You want a spy to mother your child?"

"It's the highest form of collateral," he sneered. "You won't betray the father of your child."

"You underestimate my survival instinct," she said.

Suddenly, the room plunged into darkness. The storm had knocked out the power.

Her body moved before she thought. She lunged. She grabbed his arm, twisting it to pin him.

But Holmes was fast. He blocked, sweeping her leg.

They crashed to the floor. She rolled, straddling him, her hands finding his throat. He bucked, flipping them over so he was on top, pinning her wrists above her head.

They froze. Breathing hard.

The backup generator kicked in. The lights blazed on.

They were tangled together on the Persian rug. His face was inches from hers. His shirt was torn. Her hair was wild.

The air between them crackled. It wasn't just violence. It was something else. Something hot and heavy.

Dennie realized their position. She shoved him off and scrambled back.

Holmes lay on the floor for a second, staring at the ceiling. Then he laughed. A breathless, dark sound.

"Well," he said, sitting up and wiping blood from his lip. "At least the physical genetics are acceptable."