~ H. G. Wells ~ Went in to cover a shift at work for June. Can you get a ride home? Maya’s text read. I stifled the urge to curse, but only half succeeded. “What’s wrong?” Porsche asked quietly. “My girlfriend went in to work,” I said. “Doesn’t she work at an old folks’ home or something like that?” she asked. I nodded, for some reason glad she’d remembered. “Yeah, but if you say that to her face she’ll hurt you. It’s a convalescent and rehab facility.” “Either way, it’s crowds and sick people. You better tell her to get the hell out of there.” She hadn’t even finished the sentence before I was dialing Maya’s number. She didn’t answer after five rings, and it went to voicemail. “Baby, it’s Dave. You have got to get out of there, now! I’m headed your way.
