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The glider squeaked again. “I never thought you did.”
“Neither does anyone else, including Nita.”
He kept his arm draped over the back of the cushions. “I’ve lost track of how many of your constitutional rights they’ve violated. You should sue.”
“Nita knows I won’t.” She moved toward the small iron table at the end of the glider.
“I sure would.”
“That’s because you don’t feel as close to the community as me.”
The edges of his cool chipped away. “If you feel so close, why were you running?”
“Because—”
“Point made.” He set his glass on the table with a heavy thud. “You run away from everything you care about.”
She couldn’t work up the energy to defend herself. “I really am a coward.” She hated feeling so exposed, but this was Dean, and she’d hurt him. “The thing is, a lot of really good people have cared about me over the years.”
“And they all gave you up. Yeah, I know.” His expression said he didn’t care. She snatched up his glass, took a big gulp, and choked. Dean never drank anything stronger than beer, but this was whiskey.
He rose and flipped on the porch’s new floor lamp, as though he didn’t want to be alone with her in the dark. His stubble had grown a good quarter of an inch past the fashionable point, his hair was flat on one side, and he had a paint smear on his arm, but he could still have posed for an End Zone ad. “I’m surprised they let you out,” he said. “I heard that wasn’t supposed to happen until Nita signed off on the town plan next week.”
“They didn’t exactly let me go. I sort of broke out.”
That caught his attention. “What does that mean?”
“As long as I get Chief Wesley’s car back before he goes off duty, I doubt he’ll notice. Just between us, he runs a fairly loose operation.”
He snatched the tumbler from her. “You broke out of jail, and you stole a squad car?”
“I’m not that stupid. It’s the chief’s personal car. A Buick Lucerne. And I only borrowed it.”
“Without telling him.” He took a swig.
“I’m sure he won’t mind.” Her sense of being ill-used rose to the surface. She plunked into the wicker chair across from the glider. “Thanks for rushing over to bail me out.”
“Your bail is set at fifty thousand dollars,” he said flatly.
“You pay nearly that much for hair products.”
“Yeah, well, you’re pretty much the exact definition of a flight risk.” He resumed his former seat.
“You were going to take off for Chicago tomorrow without seeing me, weren’t you? Leave me here to rot.”
“You’re hardly rotting.” He settled back into the cushions. “The word is that Chief Wesley loaned you to the Golden Agers yesterday morning for an oil painting demonstration.”
“It’s his work-release program.” She clasped her hands in her lap. “You’re glad I was arrested, aren’t you?”
He took another slow sip, as if he were thinking it over. “Ultimately, it doesn’t mean much, does it? If Nita hadn’t done her worst, you’d have disappeared by now.”
“I wish you’d at least…come to see me.”
“You made your feelings more than clear the last time we talked.”
“And you let a little thing like that stop you?” Her voice caught.
“Why are you here, Blue?” He sounded tired. “You want to drive the knife in a little deeper?”
