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“Do. I’ll get Lizzy.”
“Is she still awake?”
“She’s not supposed to be, it’s after ten, but I suspect she’s reading.”
Catherine wished she were there, told Chris exactly that. “I love you, Chris.”
She didn’t say it often enough.
“I love you more.”
She believed he did.
Kara was glad Catherine wasn’t with them at the pub. At this point, she wouldn’t even care if Matt showed up. That meeting at the sheriff’s office had been total bullshit.
She stood outside with Jim, who was on the phone while Ryder got them a table. She breathed in the fresh ocean air and tried to push aside her frustration.
Kara knew she didn’t play well with others, as her old boss Lex Popovich had told her on more than one occasion. So what? She did a fan-fucking-tastic job and she was right 99 percent of the time. Something like this? No-brainer. She’d met Madelyn Jeffries, and the woman wasn’t a killer. She couldn’t even conceive of it, Kara figured, and thus she wouldn’t have hired someone to kill her husband. Catherine hadn’t met the woman, instead basing her profile on what she’d read and her own biases.
Kara was beginning to understand Dr. Catherine Jones’s narrow focus. The doc was rarely challenged by her peers because she was so smart—booksmart, that is. Probably always the smartest person in the room. She was at all times calm, cool, collected. Spoke well. Had she ever lost her temper? Probably. But it was rare, and people respected the ability to keep emotions in check. People respected education and doctorates and all that.
Kara had none of it. She’d never gone to college. She had street smarts in spades, and she’d survive anything put in front of her—she had no doubt if the world fell apart that Catherine would cower in her ivory tower and Kara would survive on the street. Zombie apocalypse? Bring it on.
Maybe that wasn’t fair. Maybe Kara was projecting her own biases on Catherine: her animosity toward schooling and psychiatrists and other people judging her.
At the same time, Kara had confidence in her assessment. She might be a total fuckup in her life, but she was never wrong on the job. Shewasher job.
And Catherine Jones was a shrink who thought she knew who Kara was.
Like hell she did.
“Who you planning on killing?” Jim asked her as he ended his phone call.
She turned to him. “That obvious?”
“You’re a million miles away with an expression like you’re plotting dastardly deeds.”
“Not murder. Wanna beer?”
“Sure.”
“Trust me?”
“Absolutely.”
She grinned and they walked inside the pub. She nodded in the opposite direction of the bar and said, “Looks like Ryder found a table. I’ll get a pitcher.”
Kara walked over to the bar while Jim joined Ryder across the pub. Owner Pete Dunlap was working behind the bar wearing a white polo shirt, bright against his dark skin. “How are the girls?” she asked, sliding onto a vacant stool.
“Good. Thank you for how you handled the situation. I was worried, but they seem to be adjusting okay. Knowing what they saw... It pains me. They shouldn’t ever have to see anything like that.”
“If they need to talk to anyone, I’m here. Just let me know.”
“Thank you.” He smiled at her. He was an attractive guy, a bit on the edgy side, but exactly the kind of guy Kara would jump in the sack with in a heartbeat.
Except she was conflicted about her love life right now.
Not so much conflicted as...well, hell. What was she? She wanted Matt Costa. She shouldn’t—he was now her boss.
