The next morning, Brodie rose at his usual early hour, slipped quietly out of bed so as not to wake Malik, who had had a restless night’s sleep and began his usual morning run to Villaricos at a pace which would leave most men struggling in his wake. Doing an about turn, he then headed back to Puerto Ricos, listening to a double album of Joe Cocker’s greatest hits.
By the time he got back to the apartment, Malik was up and showered, but not dressed. She was standing in the kitchen with a bath towel wrapped around her, cradling a mug of coffee. There were wet tear tracks on her cheeks.
“Hey, you OK?”
“No, no I’m not. That man would have killed me yesterday. If you hadn’t come in when you did, I would be dead. But you just shot and killed Ramirez, without a second thought. Then you make j
