us as well.”
A broad man near the head table straightened so fast his chair hit the tablecloth. I hadn’t noticed him when I came in. That’s on me. He was one of Abigail’s “mentors.” Mid-fifties. Aviation branch. A chest full of decorations. The sort of man who shook hands as if cameras were always nearby.
His face had lost color.
“Sir,” he said.
He followed continue reading …
