The Interest of Blood (V-08)
The fog in San Francisco has a way of hiding things—bodies, bribes, and the kind of secrets that make people jump off the Golden Gate Bridge. I was nursing a lukewarm coffee in my office, the neon sign from the diner across the street blinking a rhythmic, irritating red. My client was a woman named Elena. She had the kind of beauty that usually came with a high price tag and a lot of baggage....
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