Page 100 of The Last Close Call

“Sure, okay.”

He turned and glanced around the messy room. His clothes were everywhere, and he had case files scattered across the nearest bed. He’d told housekeeping to stay away, and the second bed was still unmade from last night.

“Come on in,” he said, scooping crime scene photos and reports into a pile and sliding everything into a folder. He grabbed a black T-shirt off the chair and pulled it over his head. Then he shoved his feet into his wet hiking boots and bent down to tie the laces.

“What happened to your arm?” she asked, eyeing his bandage as she stood in the doorway.

He buckled on his holster, then grabbed his leather jacket and shrugged it on.

“I got a few stitches.” Ushering her outside, he put the PRIVACY sign on the door and pulled it shut with a firm click.

“Why did you need stitches?”

He glanced across the rain-slicked parking lot and was relieved to see the OPEN sign in the window of the diner next door.

Rowan watched him with a worried look as they started across the parking lot.

“Anderson nicked me.”

She stopped in her tracks. “Anderson? As in William?”

He touched her arm to get her moving again. “We had an altercation at a crime scene. Or the woods behind a crime scene, I should say.”

“He attacked you?”

Her voice was pure outrage, and he took her hand. “I’m fine.”

“When did this happen? Was this the scrape on your face, too? Why didn’t you tell me?”

They approached the diner, and he dropped her hand to open the door. His server from the previous night was behind the register ringing up a customer, and he could tell she wasn’t thrilled to see him fifteen minutes before closing. He held up two fingers and pointed at the circular booth he’d occupied yesterday. She handed him a pair of menus and went back to making change.

Jack led Rowan to the curved booth, and she scooted in first. He slid in behind her.

He combed his hand through his hair as he surveyed the nearly empty restaurant. He was tired, famished, and his back was in knots. And he could have used a stiff drink, but they didn’t serve alcohol here.

“Jack?”

Rowan stared at him, her deep blue eyes filled with concern.

“I’m fine.” He slid a menu in front of her. “Let’s order before they shut the kitchen down.”

The server came over and set two plastic cups of water in front of them. Strands of gray hair had come loose from her bun, and she looked like she’d had a long night.

“What would you like?” Jack asked Rowan.

“Nothing. I had dinner already.”

“Come on. You can’t just watch me eat.”

She sighed and flipped her menu over. “I’ll have a chocolate milkshake, please.”

The server looked at Jack. “And for you?”

“A chocolate shake for me, too,” he said. “And a club sandwich. Chips, not fries.”

She jotted it down and walked off.

Rowan was still watching him, clearly expecting an explanation now that they were alone in the privacy of the booth.

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