30
My mouth was so dry, my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. The good thing was, it made it less likely I’d throw up. The bad thing was, it made it damned hard to speak.
“Is it …” I stopped, worked up some more saliva, and tried again. “Have they identified the body?”
“No, not yet. It’s a man, somewhere between thirty-five and fifty years old. But even if they had someone to compare against, his face is pretty messed up, and he’s …”
Mike covered his face, sucking air through his fingers for a moment before turning to face me.
“He’s missing his hands.”
I got the car door open and my feet on the asphalt before I threw up. It was a miracle I didn’t puke on myself or get any in my hair. Then I realized that, despite the sail, my hair was still mostly back in the French braid JD had d
