Hank Clegg immediately held his breath.
There was something wrong with this fragrance.
Having been completely unprepared when he entered the room, he couldn't avoid inhaling a bit of it.
But that wasn't the main issue now. "Victoria" was wrapped up in it, motionless.
He strode quickly to the bedside.
One hand reached for the quilt.
His palm, through the quilt, touched her shoulder.
With just that touch, Hank Clegg immediately felt that something was off.
He had touched Victoria Talkington's body countless times, and he was intimately familiar with every part of her, whether it was her hands or legs.
So even through the quilt, he could distinctly feel that the woman's shoulders beneath it were slightly less slender than Victoria's.
This woman, she wasn't Victoria Talkington!
And the source of the odd fragrance was inside the quilt.
Hank Clegg immediately stood straight up, walked over to the window, and opened it.
