[Continued: To start at the beginning click here.]
Fifty-eight minutes before she died, Roxanne Love noticed three things. The stain on the ceiling, her brother’s short fuse, and the tall stranger who quietly entered and sat in the back.
The stain had caught her eye earlier, and after that, she couldn’t stop looking at it. A stain meant a leak and that meant a bill. Bad news all around. But worse than that, the black splotch crouching in the far corner like a fat spider gave her a bad case of the creeps, though she couldn’t say just why. The crazy feeling stalked her as she served drinks to the two customers sitting at the bar of the pub she co-owned with her sister and brothers. She couldn’t shake it.
Then the man came through the front door.
Six and a half feet tall, sporting the kind of muscle that took work to build, he strode in like he was on a mission.
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