Sylvia's whole body went rigid, disbelief turning into nausea. "You—you bastard."
He stepped forward just a fraction, lowering his hands but keeping his tone smooth. "You asked me to fix things, remember?"
"Don't," she hissed, shaking her head furiously. "Don't twist this on me."
"I'm not twisting anything." His eyes glittered. "You wanted him. I told you I could make it happen if you did one little favor—help me bridge the gap between Sharona and Winn. You agreed. I kept my end of the deal, sweetheart."
"You killed her."
"I didn't kill her myself," Tom replied mildly, crossing to the drinks cabinet. He poured himself a glass of whiskey with a steady hand. "I simply arranged circumstances."
Sylvia's stomach twisted. "How evil can you be?" she whispered, tears spilling freely now.
