Nomad (Marc Dane #1)

by James Swallow

warmth of the day escaping from the narrow streets, back into the cloudless sky. As he walked, Pasco patted his shoulder with a rolled-up copy of El Periodico, tapping out an aimless rhythm across the top of his sergent’s chevrons. His uniform shirt was sticking to his barrel chest, but he didn’t notice it. Pasco was a son of this city, fourth-generation, and he’d grown up in the Balearic sunshine. His old face attested to that, careworn like good calfskin leather. He navigated around the knots of tourists and locals without really being aware of it. The uniform did most of the work for him, the pale blue of the Mossos d’Esquadra and the red-banded cap