“How’s the arm?” Sax asked as soon as Colt got into the car late Friday morning.
“I’ve had worse mosquito bites.”
“Uh-huh.”
Colt grinned. “Honest, it’s fine, if a little sore to the touch. And if you say then don’t touch it, I’m getting out right now.”
“Not my kind of humor,” Sax retorted as he pulled out into traffic.
When they arrived at the building housing Mitchell’s detective agency, Colt pointed to a section in the lot next door, saying it was for visitors. Once they were parked, he led the way inside to the elevator, and when they got to the eighth floor, down the hallway to a door with a sign beside it that said Mitchell Security.
The door opened onto a well-appointed waiting room with chairs and a sofa, as well as a desk along the side wall, flanked by two doors. The woman s
