The automatic doors of the VIP arrivals terminal slid open. A blast of cold Boston wind hit Ashlee's face.

She pushed a standard luggage cart. On it sat a heavy, black tactical duffel bag.

She looked through her dark sunglasses. She scanned the crowd waiting behind the velvet ropes. Her eyes locked onto two figures standing slightly apart from the rest.

Finley Maddox wore a charcoal gray Brioni suit. He checked his Patek Philippe watch. Next to him stood Averi Maddox.

Averi wore a pristine white Chanel tweed suit. Her blonde hair was perfectly styled. She looked like the ultimate innocent socialite.

Averi spotted Ashlee. Her face instantly transformed. A wide, bright smile stretched across her lips. She took quick, eager steps forward.

"Ashlee!" Averi cried out. Her voice was high-pitched and sweet.

Averi threw her arms open. She lunged forward to pull Ashlee into a tight, sisterly embrace.

Ashlee didn't blink. Her body reacted on pure instinct.

She shifted her weight to her right foot. She slid half a step to the left. The movement was smooth and completely effortless.

Averi's arms closed around empty air.

Her momentum carried her forward. Her high heel twisted on the polished floor. Averi let out a sharp gasp. She stumbled awkwardly, her arms flailing before she caught her balance. Her face flushed bright red.

From the corner of her eye, Ashlee saw a flash of light.

She turned her head slightly. Sixty feet away, half-hidden behind a concrete pillar, two men held long-lens cameras. They were snapping photos rapidly.

Finley saw Averi stumble. His brow furrowed in deep annoyance. He took long strides forward and grabbed Averi's arm to steady her.

He looked at Ashlee. His eyes were cold and critical.

"Is this how you behave after four years?" Finley hissed. He kept his voice low so the surrounding people couldn't hear. "You humiliate your sister in front of the press? Have you learned absolutely no manners?"

Ashlee reached up and pulled off her sunglasses.

She stared directly into Finley's eyes. Her gaze was completely dead. It was the look of a butcher staring at a piece of meat.

Finley's mouth opened slightly. He felt a sudden chill run down his spine.

"The guy on the left is using a Canon EOS-1D X," Ashlee said. Her voice was flat and bored. "The guy on the right has a Sony Alpha 1. You paid them to be here. You want a picture of the happy family reunion to boost your stock price."

Finley's face went rigid. His breath hitched in his throat.

He stared at her in shock. How could she possibly know the exact camera models from sixty feet away?

Averi's eyes filled with tears. She grabbed Finley's sleeve. Her lower lip trembled perfectly.

"Dad, don't be mad at her," Averi said softly. "She's been living in those horrible places in Eastern Europe. She just doesn't understand how things work in Boston."

Ashlee turned her head. She looked at Averi.

Ashlee took one step forward. She closed the distance between them. She stopped exactly ten centimeters from Averi's face.

Averi's breath caught. She looked up into Ashlee's eyes.

Ashlee leaned in. The scent of cold rain and mint washed over Averi.

"Say one more word," Ashlee whispered. Her voice was barely audible, but it carried the weight of a loaded gun. "And I will rip your tongue out of your mouth."

Averi's face drained of all color. Her stomach dropped. A wave of pure, physical terror crashed over her. Her hands started to shake. She took a frantic step backward, bumping into Finley.

A man in a black chauffeur uniform hurried over. He looked nervous.

"Miss Maddox, let me take your bag," the driver said.

He reached for the black tactical duffel on the cart. He grabbed the handles and pulled upward.

The bag didn't move.

The driver grunted. He planted his feet and pulled harder. His face turned red. The veins in his neck bulged. The bag barely lifted an inch before dropping back onto the cart with a heavy thud.

Ashlee sighed. She pushed the driver aside.

She grabbed the handles with one hand. The muscles in her arm tensed, and she lifted the heavy bag off the cart in one steady, controlled motion. There was no wasted energy, no trembling.

She walked to the waiting stretch Lincoln. She tossed the bag into the open trunk.

The heavy bag hit the floor of the trunk. A loud, metallic slam echoed in the parking garage. The entire rear end of the heavy Lincoln bounced on its suspension.

Finley's eye twitched. He stared at the trunk.

Ashlee didn't wait for the driver to open the door. She pulled the rear door open herself. She slid into the spacious cabin. She sat directly in the right-side passenger seat. It was the seat of power. It was Finley's seat.

Finley clenched his fists. He needed her signature on the trust fund documents. He forced himself to swallow his anger.

He guided the shaking Averi into the car. They sat on the rear-facing seats, directly opposite Ashlee.

The driver closed the door. The heavy thud sealed them inside.

The air in the car was suffocating. The smell of expensive leather and Averi's sweet perfume made Ashlee's stomach turn.

The car pulled out of the airport.

Finley forced a tight smile. "So, Ashlee. How were your years in Eastern Europe? Did you learn anything useful?"

Ashlee leaned her head back against the headrest. She closed her eyes. She ignored him completely.

Finley's face hardened. He looked out the window.

Averi sat quietly. She pulled out her phone. Her thumbs flew across the screen. She was texting her friends, complaining about the savage her parents had brought home.

The Lincoln drove through the wealthy suburbs of Boston. Hundred-year-old oak trees cast dark shadows over the road.

The car slowed down. It turned into a long driveway and stopped in front of massive wrought-iron gates. Beyond the gates stood a sprawling Victorian mansion.

Ashlee opened her eyes. The hunt was about to begin.

The heavy oak front doors of the Maddox estate swung open.

Ashlee stepped into the grand foyer. Her boots sank into the thick Persian rug. The air smelled of lemon polish and old money.

Johanna Maddox stood at the top of the sweeping staircase. She wore a silk robe. She held a crystal glass of sparkling water. She looked down at Ashlee.

Johanna's upper lip curled in disgust. She didn't try to hide it.

"Take her to the guest room at the end of the east wing," Johanna told the butler. Her voice was sharp and dismissive. "The one furthest from our rooms."

Ashlee didn't look up. She didn't acknowledge Johanna's presence. She grabbed her heavy duffel bag and walked straight up the stairs.

She passed Johanna on the landing.

A cold draft seemed to follow Ashlee. Johanna felt the sudden drop in temperature. She shivered and pulled her silk robe tighter around her shoulders.

Ashlee walked down the long, silent hallway. She found the room at the very end.

She pushed the door open. She stepped inside and kicked the door shut behind her. She turned the deadbolt. She flipped the latch. She hung the "Do Not Disturb" sign on the outside handle before closing it.

She dropped her bag onto the hardwood floor.

She unzipped the top pocket. She pulled out a small device. It looked like a tube of black lipstick.

She pressed a button on the bottom. A tiny green light blinked to life. It was a military-grade frequency scanner.

Ashlee walked slowly around the room. She swept the device over the bedside lamps. She moved it along the baseboards.

Near the large oil painting of a horse, the scanner emitted a low, rapid buzzing sound.

Ashlee smiled coldly.

She reached behind the heavy gold frame. Her fingers felt the smooth surface of the wall. She found a small bump. She dug her fingernail under it and pulled.

She held a micro-transmitter in her palm. It was a cheap, civilian-grade bug.

She walked to the nightstand and found a second one taped under the drawer.

She didn't crush them. She carried both bugs into the massive marble bathroom. She dropped them into the dry bathtub.

She reached over and turned the brass faucet. Water gushed out, hitting the marble with a loud, continuous roar. The white noise would drown out any conversation in the room.

Ashlee walked back into the bedroom. She reached into her bag and pulled out her encrypted phone.

She typed in a thirty-digit dynamic passcode. The screen unlocked. She pressed the single contact listed.

The call connected instantly.

"Mamba," Zane's voice came through the speaker. Zane's voice was distorted by the encryption, and the background was completely silent.

"Report," Ashlee said.

"I'm at an underground surgical clinic in South Boston," Zane said. "I paid the doctor ten grand to talk. An hour ago, a man came in. He bought a massive amount of local anesthetics, surgical glue, and hemostats. He paid in cash and left."

"Did the doctor get a look at him?"

"No. The guy wore a hood and a mask," Zane said. "But the doctor noticed the smell. He said the guy smelled strongly of sea salt and burnt cordite."

Ashlee's eyes sharpened. Her pulse ticked slightly faster against her throat.

The ocean. The gunshot. It was him.

"I'm sending you a photo," Zane said. "I dug it out of the clinic's biohazard bin."

Ashlee's phone buzzed. She opened the encrypted image.

It was a picture of a bloody piece of gauze. Sitting in the center of the dark red stain was a small, mangled piece of metal.

Ashlee zoomed in on the metal.

The edges of the fragment were peeled back in a very specific, jagged pattern. It looked like a blooming metal flower.

Ashlee's jaw tightened. Her thumb traced the image on the screen.

It was the signature expansion pattern of the custom hollow-point rounds she used in her Barrett. The bullet had hit him, shattered against his body armor or bone, and he had dug this piece out himself.

"He's in Boston," Ashlee said. A dark thrill rushed through her veins.

"Mamba, listen to me," Zane said. His voice was tense. "If he took a hit from that round and still managed to escape, cross the ocean, and walk into a clinic... he is not a normal target. He is extremely dangerous."

Ashlee walked to the window. She pulled back the heavy velvet curtains. She looked out at the glittering skyline of Boston.

"The harder they fight, the better the hunt," Ashlee whispered.

"I'm sending the gauze to a black-market lab to extract DNA," Zane said. "It will take a few hours."

"Do it," Ashlee said. She hung up the phone.

She walked back to her duffel bag. She reached deep into the side compartment. Her fingers wrapped around the cold polymer grip of her Glock 19.

She pulled the gun out. She pressed the magazine release. The empty mag slid into her palm. She pulled the slide back, checking the chamber.

Click. Clack.

The sharp, metallic sounds echoed in the quiet room.

Downstairs, a piano started playing. It was a classical piece, played with exaggerated emotion. Averi was showing off for her parents.

Ashlee picked up a box of 9mm ammunition. She pressed the brass cartridges into the magazine, one by one.

She stared at the floorboards. She imagined the pathetic family sitting in the living room below. They had no idea a monster was sleeping in their guest room.

The morning sun barely penetrated the thick windows of the Maddox estate's underground garage. The air was climate-controlled, smelling faintly of expensive car wax and rubber.

Ashlee walked out of the elevator. She wore a black leather motorcycle jacket over a plain white t-shirt. Her boots clicked sharply against the polished concrete floor.

The garage held six cars. Her eyes swept past the Range Rover and the Bentley.

She stopped in front of a sleek, matte-black Porsche 911 GT3 RS.

Ashlee walked over to the wooden key cabinet mounted on the wall. She opened the glass door. She reached for the key fob with the Porsche crest.

"Don't touch that!" a voice shrieked.

Ashlee paused. She slowly turned her head.

Averi stormed out of the elevator. She wore a tight pink Lululemon yoga outfit. Her face was flushed with anger. She ran over in her expensive running shoes and slammed her hand against the cabinet door, pinning it shut.

Averi lifted her chin. She looked at Ashlee with pure arrogance.

"That is my car," Averi declared. "Dad bought it for my birthday last month. You are not allowed to touch it."

Ashlee looked at Averi. She looked at the hand pressing against the glass. Her expression did not change. She looked at Averi the way a person looks at a cockroach blocking the hallway.

"Move," Ashlee said. Her voice was quiet.

"No!" Averi snapped. "You think you can just come back here and take whatever you want? You're nothing but a-"

Ashlee's right hand shot out.

She didn't punch Averi. She simply grabbed Averi's wrist. Her fingers wrapped around the delicate bones. Ashlee's thumb found the exact location of the radial nerve.

Ashlee pressed down. Hard.

A violent shock of pain shot up Averi's arm. Her fingers instantly went numb. The muscles in her forearm spasmed uncontrollably.

Averi screamed. It was a sharp, genuine cry of agony. Her hand flew off the cabinet door.

Ashlee didn't let go immediately. She held the wrist for one more second, letting the pain sink deep into Averi's brain. Then, she tossed Averi's arm away like a piece of garbage.

Averi stumbled backward. Her legs hit the side of the Rolls-Royce. She slid down against the door, clutching her wrist against her chest. Tears streamed down her face.

Ashlee reached into the cabinet. She took the Porsche key.

She pressed the unlock button. The Porsche's headlights flashed. The engine roared to life with a deep, guttural growl that shook the garage.

Ashlee opened the driver's side door. She looked back at Averi, who was sobbing on the floor.

"It's my car now," Ashlee said.

She slid into the low bucket seat. She pulled the door shut. She shifted into gear and slammed her foot on the gas pedal. The tires screeched against the concrete. The Porsche shot up the ramp and disappeared into the morning light.

Averi sat on the floor, her whole body shaking with rage. She looked at her wrist. It was already turning red. She scrambled to her feet and ran for the elevator.

On the second floor, Finley sat in his dark mahogany study.

He stared at his computer monitor. The stock charts for Maddox Corp were a sea of red lines pointing straight down. He rubbed his temples. A headache pounded behind his eyes.

The study door flew open.

Averi ran in, crying hysterically. She held her wrist up.

"Dad! Look what she did to me!" Averi sobbed. "I just told her not to take my car, and she attacked me! She grabbed me and twisted my arm! She's a psycho!"

Finley looked up. He didn't rush over to comfort her. He looked exhausted.

He stood up and walked over to his liquor cabinet. He poured a heavy measure of scotch into a glass.

"Stop crying, Averi," Finley said sharply. "This isn't about a damn car."

Averi sniffled, looking confused. She lowered her arm.

Finley walked back to his desk. He opened the top drawer and pulled out a thick stack of legal documents. The top page read: Trust Fund Transfer and Management Agreement.

"Your grandfather left Ashlee a trust fund worth three hundred million dollars," Finley said. He took a sip of the burning scotch. "It becomes fully accessible to her on her eighteenth birthday. Which is next week."

Averi's eyes widened. The tears stopped completely. Pure greed flashed in her eyes.

"If Maddox Corp doesn't get a massive cash injection in the next three months, we are going bankrupt," Finley stated coldly. "We will lose this house. We will lose everything."

"So make her give it to us," Averi said.

"She won't just hand it over," Finley said. He tapped his finger against the documents. "But, if we can prove to a judge that Ashlee is mentally unstable... that her time in Eastern Europe left her with severe psychological trauma and violent tendencies... I can petition the court to strip her of her financial rights. I will become the sole executor of the trust."

Averi stared at the papers. A slow, malicious smile spread across her face. She looked down at her red wrist.

"Violent tendencies," Averi repeated softly.

"Exactly," Finley said. He looked at his adopted daughter. "We are hosting a welcome home dinner for her tonight. I need you to push her buttons, Averi. I need you to make her lose control in front of the staff. But do it cleanly. Don't leave any marks on yourself that look staged."

Averi nodded eagerly. "I know exactly what to do."

Miles away, Ashlee drove the Porsche down the Boston highway. The engine screamed as she pushed the car past ninety miles an hour. She gripped the steering wheel, her mind focused entirely on the ghost she was hunting.