She crouched beneath a stump, her extremities twitching as the sun set orange and blue beyond the lace of iron-black trees. “Why are you so distant? Why all the mystery? What are you, a narc? Double-oh-seven or something?” She steeled herself, refusing to react. Spurling, half aside. ‘Laisse-moi,’ she threw at him, her brief attack of sobs already ended, although the trace of tears on her cheeks bore witness to its sincerity. So it is that I do not do these things. “Miss Pellissier,” he said, “these gentlemen are your friends, and therefore they are my friends.
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