12Gerry with the Hells Angels? Not likely. One of his field agents, maybe. I frowned. “Can’t be Gerry. He wouldn’t go there.”
“We’ve got positive ID,” Dawna said. “It’s Davis.”
I saw the truth in her face, heard it in her tone. Dawna’s certainty rolled into me with the crumpling force I’d felt as a driver when another car came out of my blind spot and collided with mine. My horror rose along with my gorge, as if I were watching again as that first denting impact imploded into a mangled mass of twisted steel.
I was caught, suddenly and unaware, in the middle of an accident. This is not happening, I told myself. I remembered Gerry brushing past me into the elevator yesterday. He’d been mentally chasing down a new investigative path, so energized that he barely noticed me. He’d been comple
