"Maybe drink a manhattan at sunset on the Top of the Mark?"
"Where?"
"The Mark Hopkins hotel. In San Francisco." He'd forgotten, even though Cynthia hadn't.
"Are you going alone or is your wife going with you?"
He laughed, a cynical bark. "No chance of that-that was another life."
"Maybe you should tell her," Dean said. "She's here."
"You're just saying that, right?"
"I saw her. Up on the mountain. She's here-probably right in town by now."
"God!"
Dean could hear him jump up and he felt the left handcuff being unfastened and a key being pressed into his hand. Then he heard the door close with a bang and Dean was alone with his thoughts and unanswered questions.