Gezza came out onto the broken sidewalks of the apartment block where Riley lived, and the afternoon sun was burning thick jagged lines on the street.
The late afternoon sun. The call of Elena, the shake in her voice, her talk of Mike--it was the flame of his paranoia that it threw into fire.
His stomach was turning, the price of the Playbook gouging him, yet the terror of his harem being taken led him on.
The bungalow of Elena was only half a block away, and the drying paint and the wavering light of the porch were all too familiar.
He would meet her, investigate her, discover what she had told Mike.
The heat of the Playbook pierced: Control her. His heart beat was high, his fingers gripped his pack straps, and the book was pulling his questions
The city was so quiet, with so much cut grass and exhaust in the air.
Gezza was left turning what was in his mind--did Elena know of the Playbook--no one knew--but her call, her hesitation was not the right one.
