Page 19 of Blood Moon

Again she gave a curt nod.

He didn’t immediately look away from her. She held his gaze. Then, after a quick glance over his left shoulder, hegave the steering wheel a sharp turn, entering the stream of traffic to the chorus of a dozen protesting horns. “Buckle your seat belt,” he said, and wrestled with his until it clicked.

Nothing more was said until he turned into the drive-through lane of a fast food chain no more than a mile from the airport. “I’m starving. You want something?”

He pulled up to the backlit, multicolored menu and lowered his window. Her head was still spinning over the rapid series of events. All the brightly colored pictures of high-calorie meals blurred. She couldn’t isolate a single item. “Diet Coke.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes, thanks.”

By the time they reached the pickup window, the order was ready. He set the sack in his lap, their drinks in the cup holders, then steered into a parking spot in front of the building. It faced the runway across the boulevard where a jet was landing.

He switched off the car engine, dug into the sack, and took out a cardboard tray piled with French fries and breaded chicken tenders. He extended it toward her.

“No thank you.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. What happened to you?”

“What do you mean? Oh, this?” He looked in the rearview mirror and gingerly touched the bruise on his cheekbone beneath a vivid black eye. “After you drove off, I went back into the bar and got into a scuffle with those rednecks.” He picked up a piece of chicken and took a bite.

“More than a scuffle, I think. What provoked it?”

“You.”

“Me?”

He picked up a couple of fries and, as he bit into them, looked over at her. “You left without me. That brought my manhood into question. I took exception to their observations about it.”

She didn’t believe him, but she wasn’t about to challenge his truthfulness. Not on that subject. “Why did you pull that stunt at the airport?”

“To stop you from leaving before I could ask you some questions.”

“How did you know I was leaving?”

“I called the car rental company and asked for your contact info.”

“And they gave it to you?”

“I identified myself, told them you were a material witness who’d skipped out on the prosecutor, and the trial starts tomorrow. Words to that effect. They’d recently rented you a car, and the contract was bound to have your contact info on it. At least a cell phone number. The agent was still reluctant. The manager was sent for.”

He scarfed the rest of the tender before continuing. “I told him, look, I could get a court order, but the judge is already pissed off because we lost track of our witness, and I’d hate to rile him further. Eventually, though, he’d grant me the order because he wants the trial to proceed as scheduled. In the long run, I would get the info from you anyway. So why not save us both the hassle?”

He raised his shoulder. “He gave me your number. He also volunteered that you’d already turned the car in.” Hestopped eating and gave her a baleful look. “You were clearing out awfully quick, weren’t you?”

When she didn’t offer an explanation, he continued. “Anyway, I thanked him, checked the flight schedule, and had to beat it up here to catch you before you got on that four o’clock.”

“If you had my phone number, why did you create that mortifying scene? Why accost me at all? Why didn’t you simply call me?”

“Because you might have simply hung up on me.” He continued to eat, took another drink, all the while watching her. “Did you call for me at the station this morning?”

“Twice.”

“Why?”

“I thought I’d try again.”

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