Zack asked. He kept his voice pitched low, but the mix of amusement and amazement in his words was crystal clear. “Are you serious?” Fallon stood at the window of his office and looked across the street at the Sunshine Café. Isabella and Zack’s wife, Raine, had just vanished inside to pick up some of Marge’s muffins for all of them to eat while they waited for Rafanelli and the lab techs. Should have known better than to try to explain Isabella to Zack, he thought. Isabella was not easily explained. Isabella was unique, one of a kind. “You know me,” he said. “I’m always serious.” “Well, sure,” Zack said. “But when it comes to your kind of serious, there are nuances.” Fallon looked at his cousin. Zack sat casually angled across the corner of Fallon’s desk, arms folded. There was certainly some family resemblance between them. Like most of the men in the Jones family line, they were both dark-haired and built along the lean lines typical of the clan which had, for generations, produced a lot of hunter-talents.
