one, I was worried. By two, I was certain he wasn’t going to show. At three-fifteen, I called him. He answered on the first ring. “Where the hell are you?” I snapped, at the same time he snapped, “Are you all right?” “I’ve been waiting for hours,” I said. “For what?” “You said you’d be here.” “I was delayed.” “Maybe you could have called?” I said sarcastically. “You know, picked up the phone and said ‘Hey, Mac, I’m running late.’ ” There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line. Then Barrons said softly, “You’ve mistaken me for someone else. Do not wait on me, Ms. Lane. Do not
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