Flash Point

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“I guess it’s fortunate that I showed up when I did.” Following his lead, she opened the passenger door of the car, and nearly gagged on the stench of stale whiskey and cigars as she slid inside. Still, she forced herself to pull the door closed, shutting out the noise from the street musicians and revelers who’d flocked to New Orleans’ French Quarter to celebrate Halloween.

“Fortunate is right, missy. I’m a busy man,” he said. “I’ll have you know I’ve got better things to do with my time than wait around for the likes of you.”

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“You’re right.” After setting her untouched coffee on the guy’s table, she hurried out of the café and prayed she wouldn’t be too late.

“Then how…”

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