I patted his back, and then he, Quinn’s uncles, and Cisco walked through the thinning crowd that still waited for a table and out into the April night.
Quinn matched his pace to mine. “Thanks for flying out,” he said.
As if what I’d learned would have stopped me.
I took a step and grimaced. In spite of how well my leg had healed, there were still times when the muscle ached, and now was one of those times.
I limped to the table where the Sebrings, Cisco, and Spike sat. The fifth chair was empty.
“Where’s Quinn?”
“Mark! We weren’t expecting to see you,” Anthony Sebring said.
“Where’s Quinn?” I repeated.
“Drum wanted to talk to him.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet. Where?”
They all looked toward the back of the restaurant. I propped my cane against the table, took my clutch piece from its ankle h
