Fresh air was a welcome greeting as Rome lifted his face to the sky and took in a few whiffs of the LA street. Fresh might’ve been an exaggeration, but at least the heavy floral perfume his mother wore and his father’s pungent cologne, along with the stifling weight of the conversation he’d just left, were behind him now. Bart hurried him toward the parking garage, neither of them speaking, which Rome thought was for the best since they had no idea if any of the people they were passing on the street were his father’s associates.
And there was the strange object he’d found in his pocket as well. He wanted to share that with Bart but not until he had assurance no one was watching them or listening in. How it had gotten there was still a mystery.
