Charlie’s mind reeled. As much as he wanted to go on vacation, he couldn’t actually refuse a case, could he? This was precisely the reason he moved north to New Hampshire from Boston. To flee the rat race and politics of law enforcement. Sure, he couldn’t just cease what he’d been doing with conviction and pride for over fifteen years—the last few in Portsmouth. But his grand plan was a sound one. Work fewer and fewer cases for a couple of years, sock away money, and then terminate his Mickey Spillane shtick once and for all. No more cases. End of story. He could focus full time on doing what he loved—competitive extreme hiking. Yes—yes, of course, he couldn’t take this case. He was just going to tell this person, this attractive, dainty female in a tailored gray pantsuit with manicured strawberry-red nails, that he was about to leave the country today, and nothing was going to stop him.