The smoke

I sat up and looked over at Brynne. She slept. In a comfortable guest bed, in her father's modern house, in a very nice suburb of San Francisco, my girl slept. She was crushed inside her heart, but for now she rested. She was unburdened from the grief for the moment.

I couldn't let her out of my sight for more than a few hours, so leaving Lon- don and going to the States for her father's funeral without me was out of the question. What if they tried to take her on American soil? No, I couldn't risk the possibility. This was a day-by-day, hour-by-hour operation. Keeping Brynne safe was my greatest priority now, Olympics be damned. Neil was back in London stepping in for me, and between him and Frances, they'd keep the business ma- chine running. I wasn't troubled at all about my job. No, my worries were much, much bigger and vastly more terrifying.

I hoped to shed some light on what had happened to Tom on this trip but didn't hold out much hope. Either way, I wasn't going down without