10
After dinner, I hugged Becca goodbye and followed Conor back to his place, just a half mile from my house.
Part of me needed some TLC after the lousy day I’d had. But I also hoped to uncover this mysterious history between him and Levinson. I didn’t want to ask her for work only to get blindsided later by some bullshit in their collective past. Better to know what I was getting into beforehand.
The sun had dipped below the horizon as we pulled up to Conor’s house, leaving the neighborhood in the soft, hazy glow of dusk. On the outside, his house looked like any other on the block. Brick facade with sage-green trim and a line of manicured shrubs, surrounded by a lawn of sun-scorched Bermuda grass. A few mesquite trees dotted the yard.
Inside the house, the walls were bare. No photos
