There’s a knock at the door and Dex sits up sharply, so fast in fact the movement strains his tired neck. It takes him just a minute to realize he’s fallen asleep at his desk again, the open file in front of him has a small pool of drool on it. Dex wipes it off with the crusty cuff of his shirt.

He stands up stiff and sore, and plods over to the cabinet. A shot of whiskey, just what he needs. He smooths his hair down as he pulls open the old door, and there, standing in the dark doorway, is possibly the most beautiful woman he has ever seen. He forgets to breathe.

She has golden hair tied back in a silken coil at the nape of her delicate white neck. Her eyes are round and the bluest of blues. But in spite of her breathtaking heart-stopping beauty, she’s broken. Dex can tell. There’s a sadness to her face, her shoulders stoop and she’s clutching onto a battered brown suitcase.

“Dexter Brown?” She’s anxious – her mouth a thin line.
“That’s what it says on the door,” Dex quips. “Won’t you come in?”