“Strong headwinds out of Denver, the pilot had told the passengers. Gordon Buchanan didn’t care. Twenty minutes one way or the other was of no consequence. He wasn’t meeting Jennifer Pearce for dinner until six-thirty, and it wasn’t even four in the afternoon. He hailed a cab and sat in the front seat with the driver, a mid-fifties leftover from the hippie days. “Where to?” he asked. His hair was almost entirely gray, and very long, past his shoulders. He was clean shaven, but his eyes were glaz...ed over and he looked like he needed a shower to wake up. That struck Gordon as odd, given the time of day. “The nearest Starbucks,” Gordon said. “I’ll buy you a coffee.” That brightened the driver a touch. “That’s great, man. I just came on, and I’m kinda still getting my brain around all the traffic.” “Great,” Gordon said. “Starbucks. Get me there and we’ll pour a couple of venti lattes in you. That ought to get your brain going.” “There’s one nearby,”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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