When he’d driven up to his office, he hadn’t seen the coin on the ground on his way in. But he might have been lost in thought, or a cloud may have passed over the sun, tamping down the glare off its shine. If it was there when he arrived, he must have stepped right over it.

When he came back into the parking lot with the papers and his laptop and the midday sun blazing down, a quarter, heads side up, lay centered on the curb directly in front of his car. Precisely set and never to be confused for dropped change.

He straightened up and swept the full circle around him. How in the hell would Roy Dorring have found out about this so soon? He lived in his truck, for God’s sake.

John’s first thought was that it was the last thing he needed. It’d taken just about all of what he had left to hold it together with everyone in the office wanting to relive the video with him. They wanted to add their upset to what they assumed was bothering him. His escape from their sympathy had been a fine performance. He was practically vibrating with the need to stop pretending.

John Cooper was the box that held Jonathan Spera, the careful veneer that kept Jonathan distanced from his troubles. John Cooper was nice. Responsible. Easygoing. Patient. Very patient. Jonathan Spera was angry and bored and stuck waiting to resurface.

Jonathan wanted daylight. He wanted his space and his freedom, and nothing so much as to let other people know what he thought of them. And Jonathan Spera didn’t have to hide from Roy Dorring. If the sniveling little shit was going to be a problem, it might be nice to let loose on the one person who never fought back and couldn’t say a thing about any of it. But it might be disastrous, too.

John was definitely pent up from all of his playing nice, day in and day out, even when it felt actually nice, as it so often and so surprisingly did these days. He wished he knew if Roy had been skulking in the cypress hedges when John had driven up, watching, cowering in the shadows like an oversize rat. Like an ugly-ass opossum. Goddamn Roy. Seriously, goddammit.

John gave the trees the finger anyway and drove off.

CHAPTER FIVE