Chapter One
The
perfectly-coiffed blonde in the Volvo S80 slowed for the yellow light
and glanced at the action on the traffic island. A scruffy panhandler
was holding up a sign.
You CAN go
home again.
Sigrid would have
raised her eyebrows if she could--she certainly hadn’t run into that erudite an allusion last month when she was doing her exposé on the Twin Cities’ homeless situation.
The light turned
red, and she took another look at the man. Typical homeless--hair down to his shoulders
and sweatshirt that looked like it had been pulled out of a trashcan. Fighting
the dregs of her last Botox injections, her forehead tried to knit itself in
concentration. There was something
familiar about him, about the set of his shoulders and the way he moved.
Good God! It
was her ex-husband!
A pang of grief
swept through her. Just as quickly, she
threw up her mental barriers.
No, don’t feel
sorry for him--he doesn’t deserve it.
You gave him everything you had, and he let you down. He let everyone down.
But the hell she’d
let him stay out here begging on the street.
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