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noted,” she said. “Denied. Next case.”
My knees went weak with relief.
“Thank you,” I managed.
“Don’t thank me yet,” Ramirez said, shuffling papers. “Go get that child.”
Serenity Hills looked exactly the way Curtis would design a prison: like a spa.
White stone walls, manicured lawns, a fountain bubbling in the courtyard. The sign by the gate bore a watercolor continue reading …
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