The path led to the bike trail and a bench. He ignored the sun burning into his back through his dress shirt and fought the urge to loosen his tie. It was like standing in front of a hair dryer on full blast. Branches swayed and leaves rustled in the warm breeze but everything grew sticky. And Gary hated being uncomfortable. This qualified as a ridiculous meeting place, out in the open in the middle of the afternoon. But Kent Beane had insisted, and the nervous bobble in his voice and the fact that he used the phone, which he’d been explicitly instructed never to do, had Gary reluctantly agreeing. He sat at the opposite end of the bench and folded his hands on his lap. “You run a bank. You should be there.” “I got your message this morning.” Ah, yes. The order to turn over Jocelyn Raine’s bank statements and any other information at Kent’s disposal for use in tracking down this mysterious boyfriend.
