Шрифт
Фон
Find something? Dusty asked.
Reeds instinct where Dusty was concerned was one of gut-level distrust. He closed his fist around the matchbook and straightened, shooting a glare from the pole pounder to Dusty. No, I didnt find a thing. Did you? He moved away from the man, pocketing the matchbook and tucking away a mental note to check out the story on Dusty Gaither.
Шрифт
Фон