The morning sun was warm on Cole's face. He sat on the porch with a cup of coffee. The fields were green. The birds were singing. For the first time in months, he felt something close to normal.
Evelyn came out with a basket of laundry. She hung sheets on the line. The wind caught them. Made them dance.
“You have a visitor,” she said.
Cole looked up. A car was coming up the driveway. Black. Unmarked. Kane.
He parked and got out. His face was grim.
“You're not going to like this.”
“I never like anything you say.”
Kane sat on the porch steps. Didn't take coffee.
“Diana Cross is dead.”
Cole set down his cup. “What?”
“She was found in her cell this morning. Apparent suicide.”
“Apparent?”
“The guards say she hung herself with a bedsheet. But there's no note. No warning. Nothing.”
C
