He looked out the window that faced the beach. From up here he could see over

the walls, down to the sand.

 

And Rogers was hard pressed to not cry out at what he was seeing.

 

A team of security was leading the old man, who rode in the same cart, out onto

the sand. The only difference was, Davis was not with him. He got out of the

cart and was helped to a chair that was set up for him on the sand.

 

The bodyguards formed a ring around him, their faces pointed outward.

 

Rogers looked down at his hands.

 

Who the hell had he been holding?

 

Who the hell had he been talking to?

 

Who the fuck had he thrown out the window?

 

He didn’t hear the water stop next door.

 

Or hear a hair dryer start up.

 

He just sat in the chair and stared out the window at a man who should by all

rights be dead.