*Dimos*
As the car slides through the streets, I contemplate that any other woman might have gasped, screamed, or swooned at the grisly sight of a murdered man. But not Henry Darling. I had seen the sorrow of a life taken reflected in her eyes before she'd shored herself up to face what needs to be done. She calmly went to the desk and crouched to better reach the hidey hole. When she finally stood, she announced, "The document is gone."
A few minutes later, so are we.
"Only three people knew we were going there tonight," I say quietly.
"I trust Brewster with my life."
The spark of jealousy that flares at her utter conviction toward another man irritates me, although I take perverse pleasure in the fact that Brewster has been relegated to riding up front with the driver.
"Or perhaps
