The Night Bird (Frost Easton, #1)

by Brian Freeman

was younger I could remember anything, whether it happened or not; but I am getting old, and soon I shall remember only the latter. —Mark

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