There was nothing distinctive about her except the hat — the shape and color of a pumpkin, with a cockerel feather curving up from the center. And that is all Scott Henderson could remember when his life depended on it. He had met her in a bar...
'Abby stepped in the lift and the doors closed with a sound like a shovel smoothing gravel. She breathed in the smell of someone else's perfume, and lemon-scented cleaning fluid. The lift jerked upwards a few inches. And now, too late to change...