Captive

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The past is a prison…

Twenty years after LETHAL…

Sylvie

Sylvie Hayes dug her polished nails into the stems of her maid-of-honor nosegay and stared down the church’s aisle. Faces peered expectantly from pews. Autumn chrysanthemums smothered the altar. The organ soared into Bach, rattling stained glass like thunder from an approaching storm.

It was her cue to start her measured march down the aisle.

But where was the bride?

Sylvie glanced around the narthex for any sign of her twin sister. Diana had said she needed a moment to check her makeup, to make sure everything was perfect for her wedding. But that had been over fifteen minutes ago.

She should be back by now.

Sylvie and Diana might not know one another as well as twin sisters who’d grown up in the same household, but since Diana had tracked her down six months ago, they had become close. Closer than Sylvie had dared to get to another person.

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