"You junkie whore. I didn't have to give a convicted felon a job."

"He was trying to—"

"I don't care. You're fired. Get out."

Letty ripped off her apron and dropped it on the floor beside the moaning trucker who'd gone fetal in the corner.

# # #

She rode the bus into Charleston. Sat in the back going through the trucker's wallet. His name wasn't Dale, Dan, or Dave. It was Donald, and for a cheapskate, he carried around fat stacks—$420 in cash and three credit cards.

She whipped out her jailbroken iPhone which she'd retrofitted with a wireless card-reader. Started scanning Donald's Visa, Mastercard, and Amex, dumping sub-$100 deposits into shell accounts.

"You got fired?" Christian said. He was seated at his desk several feet away.

"This morning. I'm leaving town tonight. I've already cleared out my room at the halfway house. Won't miss that place."

"I thought we agreed it would be a good idea for you to hold down that job at least through Christmas."

"I'm done with this place."

"Where will you go?"


"To see your son?"

"That's the plan."

"Do you feel you're ready for that? Ready to reenter Jacob's life on a permanent, reliable basis?"

"It's the only thing I'm living for, Christian."

"That means this is our last session."

"You've been great. The best part of my time here."

"Are you anxious?"

"About leaving?"

"It's a big deal."

"I know it is."

"How do you feel about it?"


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