“Well, obviously, the reports of my death are greatly exaggerated.” He chuckled sitting back in an opulent, but not decadent, leather chair. Only then did he notice the plain manilla envelope on his desk, labeled with no return address but, in familiar handwriting, one word only: Rafferty.

“Miss Onyx, something has just come to my attention. I shall have to call you back.”

He opened the envelope.

My dearest Rafferty,

As you have most certainly discovered by now your brother is dead. I must admit this is not how I planned it, but when I noticed you in strolling in the Great Bazaar I had to take the opportunity and exact my revenge. Only afterward did I realize it was merely Rupert. How troublesome twins can be, particularly in our line of work. I guess we shall be seeing each other soon. Keep an eye open for me, won’t you?

Sincerely, Izzy

Ismarelda Pryce, Rafferty’s ex-wife and, to date, the only criminal mastermind to ever evade his capture, had finally made her move.