Ted buzzed me. “You’re not going to like this.” “What’s the matter?” “You and Hy have a visitor. Gage Renshaw.” My breath caught and my pulse elevated. “…Gage—that can’t be! Hy and I assumed he died years ago.” “But you never received conclusive proof of it.” “No, but it’s been years since he disappeared. Knowing Gage, he would’ve turned up to devil us long before this. Are you sure it’s him?” “Turn on your surveillance cam and take a look.” I touched the switch. The grainy picture on the monitor—not the best we should have bought—showed the reception desk; I moved the cursor to take in the rest of the room. The figure slumped on the sofa was Gage Renshaw all right. Older, more rumpled than I remembered him, but still with that jet-black hair with a white shock hanging down over his Lincolnesque forehead.
