|Photo courtesy of jgolby, shutterstock.com|
Detective Rosetti led me to his car – a black sedan with coffee stains on the armrest and a bullet-proof vest lying on the backseat – and had me wait inside while he made a phone call under the awning of the nail salon. I watched him from the rear-view mirror through the drizzling rain thudding on the back window. It was cold, but I could feel beads of sweat collecting across my brow. Why had he gone out of his way to find me?