Micah freshened up, running a towel over his damp hair before tossing it aside. The quiet in the condo was unnerving, too still. He paused at the bottom of the stairs, scanning the open living room.
No voices, no footsteps, not even the hum of a TV.
He frowned, his gaze drifting toward the glass doors leading to the deck. Through the glare of sunlight on the glass, he spotted Clyde. The man was seated casually on a deck chair, one ankle crossed over the other, a mug in hand. Even through the glass, the faint murmur of his voice carried as he spoke into the phone.
Micah lingered where he was, hesitant to interrupt. For a second, he just watched, Clyde's fingers curled lazily around the mug, his brow relaxed, the faint curve of his lips suggesting whatever he was hearing pleased him.
