9
- 9 -
Ross Dome’s Grand Park lived up to its name.
Cat had caught one of the trams, had alighted at the east end, by the cafes and art centres. People ate, or strolled around, sleeves rolled up and shoulders bared. A few brave souls carried their shoes, especially on the sand that ran alongside the river.
Cat strolled along the paths, just another resident of Ross Dome enjoying the pleasant day, taking time out from a busy work schedule, recharging his batteries. His right arm hung loose, and his jacket looped over his left. He had no hat today—he didn’t wear one as often in Ross, kept that as more of a districts accoutrement. He’d even unbuttoned the top of his shirt.
Inside, his mind raced. He didn’t—couldn’t—trust Don. Even when Cat first recruited the man he’d kept himself
