The last person I expected to run into when I left Dad's office a short time later was the very man who had exited before me, but there he was, leaning against the side of the building, his hands shoved in his pockets, gray hair standing on end despite the shortness of the cut, Malcolm's green eyes watchful and shadowed as he scowled when I paused next to him. He made no attempt to move, to stop me and I know I could have kept going past him, past the black sedan parked around ...