“Lennox,” she finally says. “You’re too kind.” “Thank you.” I show her a sheepish smile of modesty, but her expression grows grim, and she slowly shakes her head back and forth. “No, sweetheart, you’re too kind. They are going to chew you up and spit you out in Miami.” My heart thuds heavily at her bizarre warning, but I don’t have time to ask for clarity.
