“Wherever they went, she wanted, and she got, the pick of the water.” —Henry Van Dyke She came at them like an oak tree in a forty-mile-an-hour wind. It took Osborne a hazy few seconds to locate the human beneath the shivering foliage, but as she got closer, he could make out two eyes, rimmed white as a black squirrel’s and just as determined. “Oops, I think that’s my client,” said Ray, a look of chagrin on his face. It had to be. The only other people in the small lobby, besides the Northwest t...icket agent, stood behind rental car desks. “Client, hell, it’s a walking duckblind,” said Osborne under his breath. They were trapped, the baggage carousel behind them blocking any attempt to back up. Skidding to a stop, the figure reached up to fling off the leaf-hung hood obscuring its face, then planted its feet wide apart as if ready to take on all comers. Fluttering oak leaves spilled down the legs and onto the matching boots. She wore more camouflage than Osborne had ever seen on one person—obviously expensive and quite out of season.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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