Page 102 of A Gathering of Secrets

“It’ll do in a pinch.” I look over at him. “Want one?”

“I have no such aversion.” I start to get up, but he stops me. “I got it.”

He pours two fingers of eighty-proof into a glass. He’s still wearing the suit he put on this morning. The tie I bought him for his birthday last September. He’s rumpled, with a five-o’clock shadow. He wears all of those things very well.

“Tomasetti, you are an extraordinarily nice-looking man,” I say.

He arches a brow. “How many of those whiskeys have you had?”

I smile, and it makes me feel almost normal.

He takes the chair across from me, sets the glass on the table, and reaches for my hands. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I—”

“Don’t apologize. It’s okay. I just … when I got the call…” He turns my hands over in his, looks down at the smattering of blisters on my palm, and frowns. “You’re burned.”

“I don’t think they’re bad.”

“Uh-huh.” He leaves the kitchen and returns with the first-aid kit. After washing his hands at the sink, he sits and pops the lid. “Let’s have a look.”

Taking my hands in his, he studies the blisters and reaches for the burn gel. “Blisters are broken, so I’m going to bandage your hand, okay?”

Neither of us speaks as he tears open a roll of sterile gauze, wraps it loosely around my hand, and tapes it.

“You’ve got great hands, Tomasetti.”

“That’s what all the female chiefs of police tell me.”

“I bet.”

“How does it feel?”

“Hurts.”

“You planning on milking this thing or what?”

“To the max.”

He’s trying to distract me. I’m not sure if it’s working just yet, but I like it.

“How’s Skid?” he asks.

“Not sure. I’m going to keep an eye on him.”

“Tough thing for anyone to deal with.”

“I think what makes this even worse is that she was Amish. And a woman…” I shrug. “Glock and Pickles showed up with a bottle of Jack Daniel’s to take him home.”

“What could possibly go wrong?” He tucks the remaining gauze and gel back into the first-aid kit and closes the lid.

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Just sits there, staring at the kit. Then he raises his gaze to mine. “Kate.” He takes both my hands in his and squeezes my uninjured one. “Look, this isn’t official yet, but I thought you should know. The crime scene technician found several rounds in the console and on the floor of Edna Lambright’s car. When he checked your thirty-eight … the cylinder was empty.”

“What? But … that doesn’t make sense. She drew her weapon.” My thoughts fragment, part of my brain trying to figure out why she would have done that, the other half jumping ahead to how the news will affect Skid.

“It looks like she emptied the cylinder,” he says.

“Why would she do that?”