"The Seattle Times took my photograph," she said over and over. "I can't believe it." "It was a great photo." She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. "Thank you, Mitch. This wouldn't have happened without you." It was a kiss she might give a brother, but it was a kiss. I tried not to turn red, which only made me turn redder. The anger I'd felt about the Yakima trip—it was gone. I started up the car and roared—if a Focus can roar—out of the parking lot. "Let's go to Peet's," I said. "My treat." "I found out more about Angel," I said once we were seated upstairs looking out over Fremont Avenue. I was glad she'd picked the counter and not a table. I liked being near her, but sitting face-to-face made it harder for me to talk. I described how I'd stumbled upon Angel's house and how I'd seen him throwing the football with his friend. "Then a car came up the block, moving fast. Angel hid while his friend stared down the car. I'm not completely sure about this, Kimi, but I think his friend pulled out a gun." "You're joking." "I know it sounds crazy, but I'm almost positive." "When did this happen?" "A few days ago." "Why didn't you tell me sooner?" Her voice was miffed.
