It's early and Angel lies curled up on her side, spooned into my body. The other side of the bed is empty. I disengage myself and search out Monroe.

It's time to talk.

When I fail to find him in the usual places, I go to the den. Monroe sits in his large overstuffed chair drinking from a half-filled tumbler. He doesn't acknowledge me, just lifts the glass to his slightly swollen lip, and takes a deep drink, draining the glass.

I clear my throat and Monroe's head ...