Chapter 8Arlo rubbed his arms. It was colder than he’d envisioned it would be and the clock was only half past one in the morning. He hadn’t fallen asleep yet. Curled up on the seat of his tiny Fiat, he tried to relax, but there were too many things whirling around in his head.
He’d told Deon he was on his way to him and turned off the phone. Deon’s call bothered him on too many levels. He wished he’d asked how he’d gotten Arlo’s number. He’d dumped his old phone when he’d left Deon’s place and it wasn’t until he’d seen the ad on the house that he’d bought a new one. The number shouldn’t be registered anywhere—there were no guarantees, though.
Leaning his head against the backrest, he tried to find a comfortable position. His eyelids drooped but flew open when something moved in front of
