CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Avery had nowhere to go. Her favorite place, the shooting range, was for cops, and she no longer felt like a cop. Her house was dark and empty, and she knew that if she went home, she would simply crawl into bed and remain there for days.
A local pub, right around the corner from her house, was open.
She started the morning off right.
“Scotch,” she said, “the good stuff.”
“We have a lot of good stuff,” the bartender replied.
Avery didn’t recognize him. She’d only ever visited the bar at night. Not any longer, she thought with reckless abandon. I’m a day drinker now.
“Lagavulin!” she demanded and pounded the bar.
There were only a couple of other people in the bar at that hour, all locals, two old men that looked like they drank for a living.
“Another!” Avery ca
