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Chapter One

CONTROL WAS ALL THAT WAS REAL I had learned fro, calculation, and observation could avoid s—unnecessary risk, disappointment, and most importantly, heartache

Planning to avoid the unpleasant though wasn’t always easy, a fact that had becohts of Cutter’s Pub

The dozen or so neon signs hanging on the walls and the weak track lighting fro the bottles of liquor behind the bar, were only slightly co else made it evident just how far I was from home

The reclaied with black stain had been designed specifically to make the Midtown space look like a hole-in-the-wall bar, but it was too clean A hundred years of smoke hadn’t saturated the paint The walls didn’t whisper about Capone or Dillinger

I’d been sitting on the sa the boxes inas I could stand, I’d put away hborhood was ht air even though it was the last day in February I was experiencingno one at home who expected a report of my whereabouts

The seat cushion that I was keeping as covered in orange substitute leather, and after drinking a respectful percentage of ation had so generously deposited intowell to keep fro off of it

The last of lass intodown my throat The bourbon and sweet vermouth tasted like loneliness That at least h was thousands of er I sat on one of the twelve stools lining the curved bar

I wasn’t lost though I was a runaway Stacks of boxes sat in my new fifth-floor condo, boxes that I had packed with enthusiasm while my former fiancé, Jackson, stood and sulked in the corner of our tiny shared Chicago apartment

Moving on was key to cliood at it in a small amount of ti transferred to San Diego Even at the airport, right before I’d left, he’d proood at letting go at all He had threatened to love me forever

I dangled the cocktail glass in front of me with an expectant smile The bartender helped me set it soundly on the wood, and then he poured another The orange peel and cherry were in a slow dance somewhere between the surface and the bottom—like me

“This is your last one, honey,” he said, wiping the bar on each side of me

“Stop working so hard I don’t tip that well”

“The Feds never do,” he said without judgment

“Is it that obvious?” I said

“A lot of you live around here You all talk the saht away from home Don’t worry You don’t scream Bureau”

“Thank God for that,” I said, holding upabout it I’d even loved Jackson, as an agent, too

“Where did you transfer froht black V-neck, elled coif betrayed his flirtatious smile

“Chicago,” I said

His lips pulled back and puckered until he somewhat rese”

“I guess I shouldn’t be upset unless I run out of places to run to” I took a gulp and licked the smoky burn of bourbon from my lips