7
Massar dropped him a block from his office. It was late, and the streets were dark and empty. Early June at two a.m. cut through the thin linen of his sports coat.
“Thanks, Arrow. I’ll be seeing you.”
“No, Mike. No, you won’t. And Mike?”
“Yeah?”
“I wouldn’t try starting your car.” When Mike only blinked, Massar tapped the phone in his jacket pocket.
Mike swallowed hard, picturing the burned-out hulk of Violetta’s Porsche.
Massar nodded and drove away.
Mike couldn’t even wave.
Because he had nowhere else to go and no way to get there at two in the morning, Mike went up to his office. He didn’t quite catch on to what was happening until he’d already walked through his open office door.
Open.
In the middle of the night.
The security alarm not blinking, it had been ripped out of
