Chapter 8

Or so he’d thought.

Garrison lingered in Alan’s thoughts like cologne—sharp on the senses at first, then slowly fading to a ubiquitous scent that clouded his mind and made his body ache in ways he’d forgotten could feel so good. He started sitting at the Brew to down his drink and scone, thinking perhaps the detective was coming in after he’d already left. Maybe Alan was just missing him. He even sat at the same table Garrison and Farrow had occupied on that first day, now almost a week ago. It provided him with a direct line of sight to both the customer line and the front door.

Still no Garrison.

Let it go, mate. He’s gone, you missed your chance. Tough luck.