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“Unless your problem’s been solved?”
He drags out the question like it’s a real one, but, better than most, he must know good and well drug charges don’t simply go away.
Willing back tears with every fiber of my being, I shake my head.
He jerks his chin. “Alright then.”
I take a step for the glass door at the same time he gestures toward his equally intimidating, high-end car. I fold my arms. “Uh, no.”
“You’d rather this conversation in the middle of a crowded restaurant?”
He’s got me there. Telling Charlie what’s going on is tantamount to putting an ad in the local paper. Besides, around that place, me seated at a table with a man would be headline material in its own right. I’d never hear the end of it. “We can talk in my car.”
I regret the words immediately, but no way, no how am I getting into a strange man’s vehicle, I don’t care if he wears ten badges andisblindingly handsome.
He follows me to my economy car. I sling my purse onto the backseat, then reach over to unlock his door. None of those modern automatic key fobs for this baby. The only positive is that I hate messes. The inside is immaculate. Cramped and smelling of age, but immaculate.
Not only age. John’s cologne sails in with him as he folds himself into the confined space. My poor car trembles when he drags his closed.Easy. The man doesn’t know his own strength.
His legs take up the entire compartment, and his arms levitate for a moment while he tries to figure where to put them. In the end, he fixes his palms to his slacks and rolls his shoulders inward. If I weren’t sick to my stomach, I’d laugh.
Once he settles, any thought of laughter dies a quick death. Mere inches separate our arms, our shoulders. That big old Yukon he drives would have been better. Not only is his car far larger, it’s parked front and center, and I could have left the door open.
Heart tapdancing, I plaster myself against my door. A shudder consumes me despite myself, despite all the hard work I’ve done over the years. Silence settles like a wet blanket, a wool one that’s rough and scratchy and weighty.
“Well?” The way he rolls his wrist for a look at his fancy watch cements the awkwardness.
Why’d he come back in the first place? “You don’t have to be here, you know?”
“You got that right.” Those chocolate eyes squint over a tight jaw.
My mouth sags open. Honestly. How did I miss it all these months? There must have been signs. I thought he was quiet, sure. Lonely, even.
A heartless, egotistical jerk? No, I missed that altogether. I must have allowed his square jaw and handsome features to override the warnings of an unpleasant personality.
“You know what? Just get out.”
He clicks his tongue. “That won’t solve your problem.”
“Well, I’m increasingly of the mind that you won’t either. In fact, you’re probably cheering Jacob’s demise.”
His face puckers.
See? Sour.
He lets out a giant puff of air, sort of like a bit of his ego deflating, and I think for a second he’s actually going to apologize. Instead, sure, the attitude comes down a notch, but all he says is, “I’m John, by the way.”
“I know.” And I may never feel the same way about the name again.
Suspicion edges out arrogance.“How do you know my name?”
Oh. Right. I wear a nametag every day, but his badge only bears a number. “You had a friend with you once. I overheard him say it.”
“A friend?” He sounds skeptical, and, yeah, I’m guessing he doesn’t have many of those.
“It was a couple months ago. Another tall guy. Dark hair.” I shrug. “Maybe he was a coworker?”
“Hmm. Must’ve been Walker.” He moves his hands to his knees. “Now. Tell me what’s going on with your son…Jacob, is it?”
