by Colleen Foley
I’d driven all night, breaking every speed
limit for three states to arrive early. I felt as if I’d been chasing
the carrot you dangle in front of racehorses.
It wasn’t what Jimmy had
said – “That dumbass!”– it was the tone. Like he’d known.
walked into Jimmy’s kitchen, stiff and aching from the drive. He was
at the table, two shots of Jack already poured. He looked like fresh
brewed hell. One glance cinched it, and rage geysered up my spine,
threatening to eclipse me.
I ignored the liquor and aimed my gun at him.
“How damned long, Jimmy?”