May 1. Manhattan — Ten Years Ago.
“But why are we going back?” Jaynie asked, her voice quiet. She stood at the window, looking over the city. She’d crossed her arms and stood holding herself, her posture rigid. Without looking back, she said, “We got away clean. Why isn’t that enough?”
“We talked about this,” Frank said.
He tried to fight off his frustration but couldn’t quite manage it. Despite all his carefully laid plans, he could still feel fear smoking off his wife’s body. It fouled the atmosphere like some noxious gas.
He hated seeing Jaynie like this. He had things under control. She should know that by now.

