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“No. I’m furious.”
“I had a crying jag in the ladies’ room. It helped. Not much, but some.”
He was tapping his sunglasses against his thigh in agitation. “I’m mad as hell. I’m just not sure who I’m mad at.”
“That’s the way I feel. I’m seething, but I don’t know what to do with it.” She made a helpless gesture. “We wait it out, I guess.”
“I guess. Although waiting something out isn’t my forte.”
The autumn sunlight highlighted features that the fluorescent overheads inside the building hadn’t. It picked out the lighter strands of his hair. His eyes were hazel, though more green than brown. There was a sprinkling of pale freckles across his cheekbones. They were an interestingly pastoral feature on an otherwise uptown face.
But she shouldn’t be noticing any of this. She quickly looked over her shoulder. “My car is parked in front. Where’s yours?”
He indicated the sling. “I can’t drive until the doctor signs off. I came by Uber. I just called for another. He’s on his way.”
“Do you live far?”
“On the fringes of downtown. In a high-rise. You?”
“Fort Worth.”
“Fort Worth?”
She gave a light laugh. “You say it like it’s the frontier.”
He grinned. “Isn’t it?”
“To someone who lives in a high-rise near downtown Dallas, I guess it seems that way.”
“I didn’t mean it offensively.”
“No offense taken. I love where I live. It’s the perfect home for—”
She broke off before speaking Charlie’s name. Calder seemed to realize why she’d stopped. He didn’t prompt her to continue. She crossed her arms over her middle and directed her words to the section of concrete between her bargain-brand flats and his ultra-expensive boots. “I feel so bad for thinking and saying the things I did about Levi Jenkins.”
“Yeah, me too. When I was told that the shooter had killed himself at the scene, I was in surgery recovery, miserable. I remember being glad that he’d spared society the trouble.”
She raised her gaze back to his. “It doesn’t sound as though he was a solid citizen, but his is another unanswered-for death.”
“That eats at me.” Still holding on to his sunglasses, he pressed the thumb and index finger of his right hand into his eye sockets. When he lowered his hand, he said, “I can’t stomach the possibility that the shooter might get away with it.”
“I want retribution for Charlie.”
“You should have it. You deserve it.” He said it without any qualification, his features unyielding with resolve.
Distracted by motion beyond him, she said, “Is that your Uber?”
He glanced behind him at the approaching car. “Yeah.” Coming back around, he said, “Are you going to be all right?”
“My car’s not far. I still have time to make a clean getaway.”
“No, I mean…” He compressed his lips, tapped his thigh with the glasses, searched her eyes. “I mean overall. Are you going to be all right?”
She blinked, her eyes lowering fractionally away from his. When she met his gaze again, she said, “Eventually.”
She gave him a rueful smile, but he didn’t smile back. For what seemed like a long time, they just stood there looking at each other, at this juncture not knowing what more there was to be said.
The Uber driver lowered his car window. “Hudson?”
