Sarg had barely set one foot inside Drayco’s townhome, when he picked up the mail pushed through the slot in the door. His “maid” instincts must be kicking in, even in Drayco’s newly Spartanized digs. At one time, Drayco would be amused. Right now, it was as welcome as an invitation to a tuba recital.
“Bill, bill, bill. Second notice?” Sarg lifted one envelope up to the light. “Here’s a legal looking something addressed to Scott Ian Hoover Drayco.” Sarg waved it in the air. “Ian I knew. But Hoover?”
Drayco snatched the letter from him. “Blame Brock. If it were up to me, I’d change it. I may still.”
“He would name you that, wouldn’t he? How’s your dear ole former G-man Dad doing these days? Still consulting?”
“We did a case together not long ago.”
“Bet that was as much fun as an impact
