Less Than Swimming News

I knew exactly where we were going long before we reached the bridge, casting its lanterned-glow over the Bay.

And, frankly, the gun pointed at my side the entire drive felt unnecessary, like a prop left over from a melodrama. I knew where we were going and I wasn't about to exit before my entrance.

However, the bone-thin model next to me seemed to have an entirely different idea of what was necessary. Her cats' eyes (one green, one blue) were cool and expressionless, but alert, as if waiting for the slightest movement. Hadn't she heard of color-correcting contacts? (Probably not.)

If I had to bet, I'd say the Cat rarely slept and never, ever ate her vegetables.

As we turned off the causeway, I caught a glimpse of the red coral charm hanging from the neck of my captor. It reminded me of the centuries-old puzzle I had yet to unravel and did nothing to calm my feeling that this return to Star Island, this first visit in ten years, was not going to be good.