“I don’t need this, Dad. Not now. First the psychic crap. Then Spangler screwed everything up, leaving him to face the wrath of every FBI agent and Seattle detective on the Colson case—effectively killing any hope he had of cultivating Grace Garner as a source. Or something more. Thank you, Fritz. And now his old man wanted in on the Colson story. Jason spat on the sidewalk as he paced in front of the Mirror building. Tapping his notebook against his leg, he searched the traffic until he spotted... a familiar blue Ford Ranger pickup. His father waved from behind the wheel then double-parked, forcing angry drivers to honk as they wheeled around him. Jason stepped into the street and leaned into the open passenger window. “I just can’t do this now.” “Get in, it’ll only take an hour. Tops.” “Dad.” “Come on, get in, son.” Jason muttered something, got in, and was catapulted back through his life. The interior was immaculate but the smell of cologne and hops, the desperation of the brewery, mingled in the cab with Johnny Cash, whose singing of “I Walk the Line”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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