Clair was halfway to her car when she noticed them—two men leaning casually against the lamppost near the parking lot. Their postures were deceptively relaxed, but their eyes tracked her every move. Clair's instincts flared to life, a warning buzzing in the back of her mind. She adjusted her coat and kept walking, her heels clicking against the pavement.
As she neared her car, one of the men stepped forward. "Miss Clair," he said smoothly, his tone overly polite. "A word, if you don't mind."
Clair stopped, her hand hovering over her car keys. She turned slowly to face them, her expression cool and composed. "I'm in a hurry," she said. "Whatever you want to say, make it quick."
The man's polite veneer slipped just slightly. "It's about Anabella," he said. "For your own good, and hers, you should stay away. Walk away and pretend you never met her."
Clair's eyes narrowed. "Is that a threat?"
