“So now what?” Mike asks for the third time in the ten minutes since Trace left.
“How the f**k should I know?” Adam scowls from where he sits in one of the high-backed leather chairs that decorate the lobby. His arms are crossed in front of him and he glares around as if daring anyone to speak.
Mike stands by the glass doors and looks out at the parking lot as if he honestly expects Trace to drive back at any minute. What, maybe Trace will just laugh and say, You know I was only kidding, right?
Paol doesn’t think that will happen.
From where he stands on the far side of the lobby, Paol can see the anger clouding Adam’s face. Beside him Lewis wears the patient, half-amused expression of a Buddha. When he learned what all the yelling outside was about, the squealing tires, the spinni
