Blood From Stone
““Of all the java joints in the city, you had to walk into mine.”
“Can it, willya? Too tired.” Wren dropped herself into the booth opposite Danny, folded her arms on the table, and rested her head on top. Was it really only Wednesday? Tuesday was a blur of sleep and being spoon-fed soup and listening to Sergei’s blues music playing low on the stereo in the main room. She was back on her feet now, however battered she still felt, and the world wasn’t waiting on her exhaustion.
But God, she needed a weekend. She needed the week to end, period. Not that she had anything even remotely resembling normal work hours. And she was starting to spend too much time in this coffee shop. It was probably safe to go back to Starbucks. Probably. Then she looked at her companion and remembered how that last foray had ended. Maybe not. They might still hold a grudge about the broken tables.
“Long night?” The ex-cop-turned-investigator waved the waitress over, and ordered another pot of coffee, extra strong.
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