” “Possibly—bit by bit. We can take our things up with us and stay at the Continental or the Ritz. “Mike, what’s going on?” She sat up, groggily rubbing her eyes. ” She looked around the apartment again. Her foster father, Larry, was the hard working son-of-a-bitch type with a disdain for suits. He looked at Annabel, whose face was buried in her hands— he looked back at Anna, who was regarding him with an easy composure which secretly irritated him. We meant to make it dinner and a theatre, but you were not home. Perhaps he had heard of this Enschede. “So your father brought you here to live in the States?” John asked.
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