Reaper stood before the plate glass window with his hands clasped behind his back. Parade rest was always the most comfortable position for him to calculate where to go next. The soft ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner of his office was the metronome against which his thoughts formed orderly lines.
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She pulled onto the freeway and gathered speed. The trip would take just over an hour and fifteen minutes. Tara set the cruise control and snuggled into the seat with one leg under her. As her memories coalesced, the road faded away.
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It was nearly five o’clock, and Paul’s stomach grumbled in loud protest to the lunch which had been foregone to assemble Reaper’s team. He opened his desk drawer to the three half-eaten bags of chips and a quarter bottle of 12-year-old Scotch. It took willpower not to grab the bottle. Instead, he closed the drawer […]
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John Strickland leaned back in his chair with a clipboard on his crossed leg. He lifted the pages one by one, as though he were reading them. Feathers probably would not have caught onto the ruse had he not been bouncing his own foot and counting the falls. “No way you read that last one, […]
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Dean set his coffee cup beside the sink, the liquid no longer warm. He kissed Tara softly and held his forehead to hers. The scent of lilacs and jasmine enveloped him. Her cheek in his hand, he looked into her misty, green eyes. “I will be back.” He turned, hugged Margo and kissed her cheek. […]
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