Tamara Jones’s office was in the business district, high up in one of the glistening skyscrapers so at odds with the older architecture of the city. The Quarter was full of old creole cottages and the Garden District had its mansions. Sure, some of the other neighborhoods had typical suburban housing, but these skyscrapers—they belonged somewhere else. At least, that’s what King thought every time he saw them.
“Just a quick chat,” he reminded himself as he slipped his hands into his pockets to hide his nervousness and stepped into the chilly lobby.
A receptionist with an especially bright smile greeted him, and when he mentioned his appointment with Jones, he was directed to the forty-fourth floor of the building.
King took the elevator. Usually he tried to do the stairs, anything to ke
