Overkill(31)

Bing sat quietly, then picked up the remote and turned off the TV where medieval war was still raging. He lowered the footrest and came out of his recliner. “There hasn’t been anyone in the extra bedroom since you were last here. Sheets probably smell mildewy.”

The thought of a bed was alluring, but Zach was so exhausted he couldn’t bring himself to move from his spot on the sofa. He pulled an ugly knitted afghan from the back of it and grabbed a throw pillow. “I’ll do fine right here.”

“Suit yourself.”

At the door, Bing stopped and turned back. “Maybe you ought to flip your thinking.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it occurs to me that you’ve given a lot of thought to how your decision, whichever way it goes, will affect Ms. Lennon and her cause, that Clarke deviant, Doug Pratt, and yourself. But have you given any thought to the person most affected by your decision? Rebecca.”





Chapter 14





Zach was up before Bing, up before he wanted to be, but he’d awakened early and knew he wouldn’t go back to sleep. He wrote Bing a note of thanks for his wise counsel and for putting him up for the night, and promised to be in touch soon.

He left the note on the kitchen table under the salt shaker and sneaked out before daylight. Although there was no sunrise to see. The sky was overcast and glowering.

The drive from Bing’s house in Greenville, South Carolina, to Zach’s place took five hours. He drove it as the crow flies, keeping to the narrow state highways. Even then it wasn’t a straight shot. The roads were twisty and, today, kept slick by intermittent rain.

When he finally pulled into his cul-de-sac, his body was stiff from sitting for so long, and his mind ached from thinking. To work the kinks out of both, he spent half an hour in his home gym, showered, then crawled into bed and took a nap.

When his alarm went off, he dressed and drove into town. He was relieved to see the familiar SUV parked parallel in front of the ugly office building. He pulled his pickup into a metered slot facing the courthouse.

When Kate exited the DA’s office at twenty past six, he got out of his truck, jogged across the street, and reached the driver’s side of her car ahead of her by a margin of five seconds.

She drew up to her full height and said with accusatory pique, “I called you several times yesterday.”

“I know. I ignored the calls because I hadn’t decided yet if I was still speaking to you.”

“Since you’re here, I guess you are.” She hoisted her weighted bag more securely onto her shoulder like a soldier preparing for an uphill charge. “What did you come to say?”

“That place that grills trout to perfection?”

Obviously that hadn’t been what she’d expected, and it took her a moment to respond. “The Lodge.”

“They grill a good steak, too. Are you hungry?”

She kept him waiting while she mulled it over, then said, “I suppose I could eat. After a glass of wine.”

“That kind of day?”

“And then some.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

He left her standing beside her car and walked back to his pickup. He didn’t want it to appear that this was a date. He hadn’t shaved his scruff, hadn’t dressed for a date. He was in his favorite worn jeans, an old pair of boots, and a leather jacket over a lightweight sweater.

He got spattered with raindrops as he made his way from his truck to the entrance of the restaurant, where he waited for Kate, watching as she got out of her car and popped open an umbrella. She was the type who’d have one at the ready.

He held the door open and ushered her inside. The hostess greeted them with a down-home smile. “Hi, Zach.” And to Kate she said, “You were here last week. I like your hair. Welcome back. I didn’t know y’all knew each other. Want a window table or one near the fireplace?”

Zach deferred to Kate, who gave a little shiver. “Fireplace, please.”

When they were seated in a cozy booth adjacent to the hearth, the hostess took their drink orders, then left them with menus. Kate, busy with placing her napkin in her lap, said, “You must come here often.”

“When I run out of things I know how to cook.”

“I thought you might have someone who cooks for you.”

“Why would you think that?”

She slapped her menu onto the table. “I don’t know, Zach. Actually I never gave a thought as to whether or not you had a personal chef. It was just something to say to end an awkward silence.”

“Was it awkward for you?”

She glared at him and was on the verge of saying something when the hostess arrived with their drinks. Zach told her they’d signal when they were ready to order. Kate waited until she was out of earshot. “I guess you were too miffed to speak to me because of what I’d emailed you.”

“You blindsided me. A blind side hit is always the hardest.”

“Did you read any of it?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“We’ll get to that.” He clinked his glass of bourbon against her wine balloon. “Cheers.”

“Not really.” Nevertheless, she took a drink of her wine.

“What made your day rotten?”