Joseph had been driving in silence, the city sliding past his windows in a blur. His mind wasn't even on the road until something tugged at the corner of his eye. A dark-colored car slowed ahead, then eased to a stop near the curb.
Joseph's own car drifted to a slower crawl.
He watched carefully as the back door opened.
Beatrice stepped out.
For a split second he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him, but the way she moved, the tilt of her head, the familiar coat she wore—it was her. No doubt.
His jaw stiffened. His grip on the steering wheel tightened until the leather creaked.
Then he saw the driver.
Arman.
The recognition struck him hard. His eyes narrowed, sharp and focused, and he watched Arman look straight ahead as if he couldn't leave fast enough. The car pulled away, its taillights shrinking quickly.
