"Lenny." She took a long, slow swallow from the bottle. "He found out I was working a CI in the Bluff. Said I was 'making him look soft.' Got a little hands-on to prove he wasn't."
"Don't," Angie said, reading him like the dyslexic mess of a file she'd known since they were both twelve. "Don't you dare go noble for me, Will. I don't need saving. I need you to sit down." will trent angie
"Okay," she said, so quietly he almost missed it. "Okay." "Lenny
He pushed it open. Angie Polaski was on the floor, her back against the wall, a half-empty bottle of Johnnie Walker Black between her thighs. She wasn't crying. Angie never cried where anyone could see. But her left eye was swollen shut, a split lip had dried to a mosaic of purple and black, and her knuckles were raw, skinned clean. "Don't you dare go noble for me, Will
Will Trent stood outside the Ponce de Leon Avenue apartment, the familiar smell of damp concrete and cheap air freshener hitting him like a poorly landed punch. He didn't need to knock. The door was slightly ajar, a sliver of low, golden light spilling into the hallway.
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