PORCELAIN DREAMS (A JACK ROGERS CASE)
PRESENT Jack racked the action on the nine-millimeter. In the last forty-eight hours, he had been lied to, robbed, beaten, and framed. Whatever happened next was going to be on his terms. 48 Hours Ago Jack gave Francine the afternoon off. All he wanted to do was nurse his bottle of Old Timer Bourbon in peace and forget about his overdue bills. Jack downed a shot and poured another when he heard a knock on the door. She walked in before Jack had a chance to stash the bottle. Her bright crimson hair and pale ivory skin made Jack think of a matchstick about to strike. “Jack Rogers?” “That’s the name on the door. What can I do for you?” Her blue eyes shifted to the bottle of bourbon on Jack’s desk. He gave her a lop-sided grin and said, “It’s been a slow week.” “I don’t mind,” she said, “as long as you brought enough to share.” Jack poured her a drink. “My mother raised a son with manners. ...