a good reason for that.”
“Because of how we said goodbye. I can explain.”
Teagan’s heart was pounding against her ribs. Her legs felt as weak as cooked noodles.
I can explain.
Seriously?
Continuing on to the parking lot, she gave him the bird then retorted over her shoulder, “And stay away from clichés.” So lame.
“I grew up with a mother who believed her drug addiction was more important than her only kid,” he called after her. “My father was a grifter. He specialized in taking down the elderly and people with special needs.”
Teagan pulled up. Slowly turned around. “What did you say?”
“He would fix their pipes, mend broken furniture, but he was really casing their homes, making plans to break in and take anything of value. Cash was best, but jewelry, power tools and TVs worked, too. When I was six, he pulled a Houdini. Never heard from him again. His lousy bones could be rotting on Hart Island for all I know.”
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