Groomed for Murder (Going to the Dogs)
“He was going to be at least twenty minutes late getting back from his lunch hour, and he couldn’t seem to care. Hell, this week was the only time he’d ever taken a lunch hour.
He wasn’t sure why he didn’t go in. Who was he kidding? He knew why. His sister’s words had crippled him more than any realization on his own part could have.
The reporters outside her building slavered like wolves that had spotted a lame caribou. Circling and circling until they moved in for the kill. He wanted to be there for her. He wanted it more than his next breath. But he was smart to keep his distance.
He’d already done enough damage.
He hailed a cab and got in, giving the driver the firm’s address. Park Avenue. That address had once impressed him. As the cab pulled up to the brick and glass architectural marvel, he realized that the building he once looked up at, first with awe, then with a smug I’ve-made-it feeling, now seemed unremarkable and dull.
Inside he took the elevator up to the twelfth floor.
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