Just around the corner of the brick alleyway, concealed by the shadows of the studio's loading dock, Damien stood perfectly still.
He had a phone pressed to his ear, his golden eyes narrowed as he listened to the voice of his operative on the other end of the line.
"So, it was Raymond Vale?" Damien asked, his voice low.
"Yes, sir," the operative confirmed, the sound of tires crunching over gravel filtering through the speaker. "The banged-up grey sedan that was tailing you and Mrs. Sinclair earlier today. We ran the plates. It was reported stolen out of a parking garage near the hospital."
Damien frowned, pulling a silver lighter from his pocket. "I thought Raymond was in the ICU. Did the doctors discharge him this morning?"
