Yeah, sure. He trusted his faith in her, in her desire to know all of him. That night he took a blanket from the trunk of the Caprice and made a bed on the sand about a hundred yards from the hotel. That's it, just Gallery.
Until at least next week. I suppose I was being a scab for the first and only time in my life, but the union didn’t have a picket line outside the museum and, besides, politics was the last thing on my mind. He knew enough about the news priorities in this town to know the report on the concrete blonde wouldn't be a lead story. 'We're gold, Bosch.
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