Denver, Colorado, Monday, August 7
Liam Raven looked at the woman sleeping in the bed next to him and tried to remember her name. He vaguely recalled that she enjoyed snowboarding. He knew for certain that she was studying to be a nurse. Her name, however, escaped him.
He stared at the light filtering through the broken slats of the miniblinds and wondered how it came about that at thirty five years of age—pushing thirty six—he hadn’t found a better way to spend his nights than sleeping with a woman he never planned to see again and whose name he couldn’t remember.
His cell phone rang—his work number—saving him from delving too deeply into the murky depths of his psyche. He was grateful for the interruption. Self analysis was guaranteed to give him nightmares but work, thank God, usually proved a reliable anesthetic.
He eased out of bed, flipping open his phone. Out of deference to the still sleeping No Name, he waited until he was in the l ...
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