Josh's pov
The cold marble of the pillar was seeping through my jacket, but the chill in my bones had nothing to do with the temperature. Jolina's fingers were vise-tight around my wrist, her panic a live wire humming between us. I'd followed her yank on instinct, but as I pressed against the pillar, listening to the retreating footsteps of a man and a child, my own reaction surprised me.
Where there should have been a tidal wave of shock, there was only a cold, sinking recognition. A horrible piece of a puzzle I'd been trying not to examine slotting into place.
Armstrong.
Jolina was trembling, her breath coming in short, sharp puffs. "Did you see him?" she whispered, her voice ragged. "That was Armstrong. With a kid. Cane."
"I saw," I said, my own voice flat, distant to my own ears.
