Chapter Ten
Yolanda Stiles had a new S65 AMG Mercedes sports sedan. It was low and sleek and black, and the slant of its headlights gave its face an Asian allure. As she motored along a Pasadena boulevard, it occurred to her that her eyes were almond-shaped, her ebony hair was sleek, her skin was black (okay, dark chocolate), and she could be as low as the situation demanded. Most of the time, her ideals, along with her behavior by those standards, were suitably high. But today? Today would require her slithering to the very bottom of the tank. It had been a few years since she had trolled along in the silt, and she hoped she still had the belly for it. There was nothing worse than letting a friend down, unless down is where he or she deserved to be.
The car was on a closed-end lease. Th
