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Zoe paused only a few feet inside. The fierce look being leveled at her by Harold didn’t bode well. But then, people who called her were rarely in a good place.

“Harold.”

Zoe glanced around the room, determining that they were alone. She would have relaxed except for that disconcerting glower.

“How can I help you this time?”

“Did you know?”

Zoe narrowed her eyes at the presumptive tone. She quickly began recalculating, judging the angles, reassessing her assumptions about the meeting and the mood of the man in front of her. It wasn’t impatience. He was deeply angry. Was he John’s broker, perhaps? Should she have asked him for the … favor with the expectation he’d send John? She was obviously taking too long to answer, as Finch lurched to his feet, his glare intensifying. In spite of herself, Zoe backed up a step.

“You asked John for a favor. Did you know what would happen to him when he went to that place?”

Zoe swallowed, alarmed at the phrasing and the unexpected feeling of dread lurching into her stomach.

“I know what was supposed to happen. What do mean ‘happen TO him’?

He sagged back into his chair, deflating suddenly.

“Sit, Ms. Morgan. You need to tell me everything. And I don’t much care for your notions of client confidentiality. You lost that when you involved John.”

“Where is John? Is – is he all right?”

“No, Ms. Morgan. He is not. SIT. This should take awhile.”