The Night Bird (Frost Easton, #1)

by Brian Freeman

flashed to life across the five westbound lanes of the San Francisco–Oakland Bay Bridge. Two hundred feet above the frigid waters off Yerba Buena Island, the car horns, bangs, and skids of a chain-reaction fender bender transformed the traffic into a parking lot. Hundreds of gridlock-weary Bay Area travelers knew they were going nowhere fast. They turned off their engines, grabbed their smartphones, and settled in to wait. Trapped in the rightmost lane,

Ghh

dinner at a Japanese place a couple blocks up Bush Street. I’m not much into sushi, but she said she liked it. Always give the lady what she wants on a first date.” “Whose idea was it to come here afterward?” “Hers. I said, how about we get a drink, and she suggested this place.” “Had she been here before?” Noah shrugged. “I don’t know. She didn’t say.” “Did Christie talk to anyone else while you guys were together? Or did anyone talk to her? Did you see anyone who seemed to be watching