Overkill(18)

She sputtered into her wine. “Good lord, no.”

“Not for his lack of trying, I think.”

The truth was that Dave Morris had shown more interest than she’d invited or welcomed. His flirtation had put her off, not enticed her. But she wasn’t going to go into that with a man who’d yet to address her by her first name.

He said, “Morris did the same thing you did yesterday.”

“What did I do yesterday?”

“When you got here, you said, ‘Mr. Bridger? Zachary Bridger?’ Like you didn’t already know who I was. If you didn’t know, why would you be coming to my house?”

“You’re right. I apologize. Honestly, I do. Of course I knew you.”

“Then why’d you pretend not to?”

“I was nervous.”

“Nervous? You?” He snuffled a laugh. “I’d have never guessed that.”

“Well, good. I pulled off a confident air.”

“Why were you nervous?”

“Come on. You’re Zach Bridger.”

“No.” Appearing regretful, he said, “I used to be.”

“People still get starstruck.”

He raised one shoulder in a negligent shrug. “Some people.”

She took a sip of wine, looking at him over the rim of her glass. “My roommate had a poster of you above her bed.”

He groaned. “That thing. It was for charity. The league sold the poster to raise money for cancer research awareness.”

“It raised awareness, all right,” she said around a laugh. He’d been featured shirtless, wearing low-slung jeans and a come-hither-if-you-dare smile that every female fantasized was just for her. “It was killer.”

He winced. “Can we change the subject, please? I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’d rather talk about Morris, the trusty deputy.”

“When I got here, you two seemed on the verge of pawing the ground.”

“I returned from my hike to find him on my porch, hands cupped around his eyes, peering through that front window.” He motioned toward it with his glass.

“What for?”

“That’s what I wanted to know.” He explained the reason for the deputy’s visit.

“I don’t suppose you…?”

He shot her a look. “Painted a nasty message on a backhoe? No, wasn’t me. I’m not the only person pissed off at those people who’re carving a golf course out of the forest and stacking up condos on the mountainside.”

“They want to do that on your mountainside, too?”

“Hell will freeze over first.”

He set his glass on the coffee table and got up to attend to the fire, which by now was crackling pleasantly. He used a poker to readjust the logs. Sparks chased up the chimney. The new flames picked up strands of copper and gold in his brown hair, reminding Kate of the yummy trail that had been a much-admired feature of that poster.

She took a sip of wine, then another, then cleared her throat. “How did the stock market do today?”

“Up and down, closed okay.” He returned to his chair, settling back into the plush cushion as he fixed a shrewd look on her. “Is that what you came all the way up here after hours to ask me? You can find out how the market did on your phone.”

“Busted.” She leaned forward and set her wineglass next to his glass on the coffee table. She shouldn’t have drunk it without eating something first. It was burning her empty stomach. But the wine alone wasn’t responsible for the mild upset.

She dreaded the next few minutes. Although she’d deliberated on how best to approach the subject, she’d determined that there was no easy way. Nevertheless, she would wade in cautiously, not take a plunge.

She said, “Have you ever heard the phrase ‘a year and a day’?”

“No.”

“Well, it was a common law, a judicial standard that had stood for centuries, but which, over time, has been abandoned, although it does have limited applications in some places, depending—”

“Cut to the chase.”

“All right.” She had an illustration prepared. “Say you had a bank robbery back in the 1880s. To frighten people, the robber fired his pistol randomly, but one of the bullets struck the teller. He was critically injured, but he survived.”

“I think I saw that movie.”

She pressed on. “The robber was charged with aggravated assault, convicted, and sentenced to serve five years.”

“With you so far.”

“The teller never fully recovered from the near-fatal gunshot. He suffered repeated infections and complications. Affected organs became dysfunctional. His incapacitation became more severe.”

Slowly, Zach sat up straighter and leaned forward toward her. “Where’s this story going? I’m not liking the sound of it.”

“Bear with me. I’m laying groundwork. Similar to what you did this morning when you described your marriage to Rebecca. For context, you said.”

He frowned, but said, “Fair enough. Continue.”

“If the bank teller continued to deteriorate and died within a year of the robbery, the robber could be charged with manslaughter or even murder. But if the teller lived a year and a day after the event, the robber could not be held responsible for his death, and couldn’t be charged with it.”