Chapter EightMiller swept a hand through his long blond hair, and then pounded a fist on the table in frustration.
Merchant turned from the window and regarded him curiously. “That table do something to offend you?”
Miller ignored the comment. “Nothing–The street has nothing on her. It's like she fell off the face of the earth.”
Merchant, smiled sardonically. “Nobody really disappears, Miller. They die or they're still out there.”
The blond man was thoughtful. “So is she dead?”
Merchant shook his head. “No, she has an assumed.”
Uncertain overtook Miller's expression. “How do you know?”
“I can feel it.” He said softly, without doubt in his words. “Think about it. She's been gone a week since her leap from the roof of her apartment and sudden vaporization. No use of her social or her
