By Dana Cameron
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Extra resources for A Fugitive Truth
Perhaps he’d forgotten about me, turning into a paper-cut popsicle in the still-cold March air. I tried again. ” The window slid open slowly, and a blast of warm air rushed out of the house toward me. I only noticed it because, even with the Civic’s heater chugging away, I was still wondering about the possibility of hypothermia. The man—a guard presumably—wasn’t wearing a uniform, but a smartly tailored suit and regimental-style tie. There was a posh-looking overcoat hung up at the back of the booth.
Eventually she emerged with my book and a slip of paper. “Sorry about that, my phone. It was the director, Evert Whitlow. ” I paused, not quite certain how to bring up the question I had on my mind. “Dr. Morgan’s work sounds familiar to me. ” She flushed with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…before…you know, some people are just easier to get…and she…just…” Sasha paused, still holding the diary and apparently reconsidering what she was going to say. Finally, she put the Chandler volume down in front of me.
When I pulled up to it, its occupant was watching a monitor carefully. That had been nearly two minutes ago. Perhaps he’d forgotten about me, turning into a paper-cut popsicle in the still-cold March air. I tried again. ” The window slid open slowly, and a blast of warm air rushed out of the house toward me. I only noticed it because, even with the Civic’s heater chugging away, I was still wondering about the possibility of hypothermia. The man—a guard presumably—wasn’t wearing a uniform, but a smartly tailored suit and regimental-style tie.
A Fugitive Truth by Dana Cameron