Despite the early hour, Harding poured drinks for them both. He left Stern’s on the bar and carried his to the window. Stern left the drink where it was and walked over next to him. This wasn’t the time to cloud his wits with liquor, especially if Harding was inclined to play the fool.
Outside the window, Harding’s landscaping was tidy and controlled. The shrubs and flowers lined up like soldiers on review. Even the fountain spouted water in regimented bursts. Just the way Harding liked it. The view and the liquor smoothed the stress from Harding’s face, blurring the façade and giving a brief glimpse of the evil lurking beneath. He craved control, fed on it; like a junkie, he had to have his fix at regular intervals or he spun out of control.
In the years since their mutual darkness had
