“Boy Anay.” She repeated, her muscles tightening.
Instead of answering, he bolted out through a back door. Tuason and Rios chased him through narrow alleys, whose stench worsened as they went deeper into the interior. Boy Anay was at least ten years older than Tuason, but was surprisingly agile for his age. He ran on long limbs through meandering alleys, jumping over puddles, as if his muscles had committed every dip and twist of the alleys to memory.
Tuason matched his pace stride for stride, even as she grappled with disturbing thoughts in her mind. This was the man whose face had haunted her for years. The man she had seen on previous investigations, but who was slippery enough to avoid jail. Tuason coaxed her legs to run faster. If she caught him, then she will have a spectacular sol
