The client was a man from Austin, frantic and polished, smelling of expensive colume even through the phone line. He had lost a guitar. Not just any guitar—a 1959 Gibson Les Paul, sunburst, inherited from a father he’d barely known. He had left it on the hood of his rental car at a gas station in Fort Davis and driven off. By the time he realized, he was three counties over.
She hung up and drove back toward the desert. The sun was high now, blinding and bright, but the air was clear. It was going to be a hot day, but a good one. lara flores
Elijah looked up, horrified. "That’s a sin. To silence a voice like that? That’s a sin." The client was a man from Austin, frantic