ASHER
"Where the hell is he?" I asked, rounding on the guards again.
I tried hard to keep the worry out of my voice, but it was just under the surface. One thing about my father was his constant routine. He played golf every Thursday and always returned by 6 p.m. at the latest-not a minute more.
You could even set a watch by him. It was something I could even joke about with him-that is, if he was the kind of parent you could crack jokes with. It was almost thirty minutes past seven, and he was still not back home.
"Did he say he would be going anywhere else after his game?" I asked, already knowing it was very unlikely.
He always came straight home after his game, so he could attend to very important pack business.
"No, he didn't," the guard replied.
I considered this, then shrug
