And where. One fifteen in the morning. At Red Rocks. Two nights ago. And every moment seemed to bring more insanity.
Mitch had spent hours with the hypnotist, acting like he was cooperating while fighting anything that might send his mind on hiatus and reveal his secret. They’d broken the session for a late lunch. Captain Thomas had sent Donny to a Chinese restaurant. He’d brought back sushi. A large portion of sweet and sour chicken pieces. Kung Po chicken. Szu Szechuan beef. Chow mein with noodles.
And how had Mitch repaid that?
By grabbing up and devouring the inside of a bloody-rare steak sandwich that somebody had ordered. Mitch had ignored their expressions. He couldn’t explain. He didn’t know what to say. He’d been ravenous and everything else tasted like dirt. That meat had tasted fantastic.
The session hadn’t yielded anything. Mitch kept recounting what they already knew.
