39At five-forty-five, I rapped on the door to Dawna’s hotel room.
She flung it open. She’d removed her blazer and untucked her yellow shirt so the wrinkly tails dangled over her khaki slacks.
I spotted her after-work drink on the nightstand. Downing a shot of Walker Black had priority over changing out of her work togs.
May perched on the couch, knees together, her spine not touching the orange upholstery. She looked official in her gray uniform.
A well-stuffed sports bag bulged on the floor beside her feet. She’d guessed she might not want to return to her apartment today and packed accordingly.
Dawna pulled me into the room, shut the door, and tilted her head toward the flat screen. “Check this out.”
The noontime anchorwoman was also handling the early evening newscast.
“Repeating
