“That little bitch Marcus,” Holt said with a surprising amount of vehemence. “Let me guess. He’s the reason you haven’t eaten ice cream in years?” “Well, kind of,” I said doubtfully. “He encouraged me to cut out dairy, but I don’t really know why I’ve stuck to that since he left.” “Let’s get some ice cream right fucking now.” Holt slammed a fist on his desk, then reached over to the phone and fumbled with the buttons. “Lark? Can you come here?”
