He was going out. He didn't know when he would be back. Or even if he would. It was secret. Top secret.
The call came in on the untraceable phone. The message was in code.
Translation; grab the bag by the door and leave now.
He learned long ago to act first, question later. Which he did now.
But this time as he left, he looked back.
Took a mental snapshot of door, the steps, the way the single lamp post draped light across the railing like a wing of an angel.
Like the woman he'd left in the bed.
She'd awaken without him.
And wonder why.
berkeleyurbankaren huttonblack and whitearchitecturestairslightdoordarklamppoststreet lamprailingU.C. berkeley