CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The morning dawned cold, cloudy and misty. Miller sat drinking coffee in his kitchen and glanced at the outdoor thermometer that hung on an oak tree outside the window. Cold. Thirty-four degrees. It would be a lot warmer in Costa Rica. He had made up his mind last night. He had planned to bank more funds before making his move but he had a feeling that the net was closing in. He had always relied on his sixth sense. It was like an animal instinct. Fight or flight. It was time to flee. At least it was Sunday. That gave him at least twenty-four hours before anyone would miss him. It was the advantage of a solitary existence. No bothersome friends or family.
He didn’t need to pack. He had everything he needed in Royston, forty-five miles away across the mountains. Royst
