Point of Origin [antikvár]

CHAPTER ONEBenton Wesley was taking off his running shoes in my kitchen when I ran to him, my heart tripping over fear and hate and remembered horror. Carrie Grethen's letter had been mixed in a stack of mail and other paperwork, all of it put off until a moment ago when I had decided to drink cinnamon tea in the privacy of my Richmond, Virginia home. It was Sunday afternoon, thirty-two minutes past five, June eighth.'I'm assuming she sent this to your office,' Benton said.He did not seem disturbed as he bent over, peeling off white Nike socks.'Rose doesn't read mail marked personal and confidential.' I added a detail he already knew as my pulse ran hard.'Maybe she should. You seem to have a lot of fans out there.' His wry words cut like paper.I watched him set pale bare feet on the floor, his elbows on his knees and head low. Sweat trickled over shoulders and arms well defined for a man his age, and my eyes drifted down knees and calves, to taperedI'll !'.M1! i:liiii'l* -t