Lily

I sat there staring at Miranda, both furious and sick with dread at the same time.

She didn’t seem bothered at all by the violent drama about to unfold. She lounged in the chair like she was in a theater, waiting for a movie to start. The only thing out of place with her demeanor was the gun in her right hand.

“What were you doing in Tokyo and Italy?” I asked.

“I told you, we’re not talking about that.” There wasn’t any anger or annoyance in her voice, just cool detachment.

“Either I’m about to die, or you’re about to die – so what does it matter if I know?”

She looked at me with mild amusement. “I’m not about to die.”

Her self-confidence enraged me – and at the same time, the double meaning behind her last sentence chilled me to my bones.

Still, I kept pressing. “So tell me.”

“There was a shipment of prostitutes in Tokyo, and a shipment of heroin in Italy.”

“…into the US?”

“No,” she said, her voice registering just the barest hint of sarcasm. “Into Guam. Of course into the US.”

“But