Chapter Twenty-One
I’d been staring at the bottom of the glass for five minutes—or two years, depending on how you looked at it—when Daly returned from her phone call. She’d disappeared a few minutes earlier, to check in with her superiors and avoid further suspicion. When she dropped back into the booth seat her features were tense.
“Bad news, huh?” I enquired.
“They’ve called me back in, and I can’t stall them much longer or they’ll know something’s off. We don’t have much time.”
“I understand,” I said, draining the last traces of the whiskey and enjoying its comforting burn. “But I need to know. What’s in this file that makes it so dangerous?” I leaned back against the soft leather. The events of the day weighed heavily, and fatigue pulled at the corners of my mind. I couldn’t remem
