Cowboy Sanctuary
Cameron Morgan pulled his cowboy hat from his head, leaned his eye against the scanner next to the door and waited for the green light to pan across his eyeball. When the lock clicked open, he straightened and stepped through the heavy glass doors into the spacious offices of Prescott Personal Securities. After being gone for the past month on assignment, he felt as if he was coming home. He inhaled, expecting the soothing scents of eucalyptus and furniture polish. Instead, an acrid aroma stung his nostrils.
"Hi, Angel," he said to the receptionist behind the bleached pine countertop. Cameron wrinkled his nose.
"Was there a chemical spill somewhere?"
Angel, the street punk adopted by the agency's owner out of some attempt at being charitable, rolled her eyes. "'Sup?" She barely looked up as she smacked her gum between black lipstick-covered lips while she painted another coat of dead black polish on her clawlike fingernails.
Cameron wrinkled his nose. Ah, the source of the odor. "Do you have to do that here?"
She answered by raising her brows. No wonder memos from Angel were often misspelled and calls were misdirected. With nails like that, she ... read full excerpt from Cowboy Sanctuary ebook
