Clarissa had made it through the security layers surrounding the disaster of the George and the adjoining block, but was balked at the edge of the partially collapsed hotel.
After a consultation with the fire chief, Taz and Jeremy had donned hard hats and, joined by two firefighters, moved into the wreckage. She wanted to requisition a hard hat of her own, but her heeled boots would be worse than useless in the rubble and her clothes would be in ruins.
They were probably already unsalvageable from a hundred tiny injustices. The sooty handprint on her shoulder where a fireman had steadied her after she tripped over a hose. The touch of a walking wounded on her elbow as he asked her if this was where the tour started. A woman, unaware of her condition, had let a medic guide her away, but n
