Tropical Storms, Tropical Heat
On the side, however, Sean kept the accounts that never needed explaining to outsiders: coded ledgers, a string of aliases, and the people who would never see a tourist brochure.
He walked past a band of teenagers playing guitars near the pier and paused to watch them. Their rhythm was imperfect, the chords flung together like someone trying to fake fluency, but the music was honest. For a moment the tug of ordinary life — sunlight, food, sound — almost loosened the tightness in his chest. Then he saw the SUV idling with two men sitting inside like patient dogs, and the moment dissolved.
Sean's voice, when he used it, was casual and edged. "All right, showtime," he murmured to himself, more
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