Six let me have the next afternoon on the beach. Warm sun and sand, salty waters, the whole shebang. Though I had to admit it wasn’t as much fun by myself, even with the rented chairs and umbrella complete with a waiter that brought me a Six-approved fruity drink.
Six was simply a guardian, making sure I didn’t pursue my swim to Cuba idea or get carried away by one of the meatheads tanning his over-muscled, over-tanned skin. Glued to his phone, he only left the lounger to get his feet wet in the waves. He even brought his gun with us, stuffed in the beach bag and under his chair.
Digby and I had talked multiple times about going to Miami for vacation, but it never happened.
“Your burn faded,” Six said the next morning.
I turned in front of the mirror to get a look at my back and should
