Page 91 of The Night Before (Savannah 1)

One side of his mouth lifted, a hint of a smile touching his eyes. “I’ll have scotch. Neat.”

As the waitress disappeared, he glanced at the park where a few people strolled through the pools of light cast by the street lamps and the oaks grew tall and dark. Caitlyn wondered who lurked in the shadows, if anyone was watching. She opened her menu, realized she had no appetite and scanned the list of entrees without much interest.

“Do you think I should go to the police?” she asked, pretending to study the appetizer choices.

“I thought we were leaving all that talk back at the office.”

She lifted a shoulder. “I’d like your opinion.”

“I don’t have a law degree.” He snapped his menu shut and dropped it onto the table. “I think you might need a lawyer.”

“I’m getting one. My sister’s an attorney, remember, not criminal law, at least not anymore, but she gave me some names and I’ve got an appointment with one of them the day after tomorrow.”

“Good.”

“This is such a mess.” She felt that pressure again, the one that felt like a two-ton weight on her chest, the one that didn’t allow her to breathe.

Adam reached across the table. Placed one hand over the back of hers. His eyes were dark with the night, his pupils dilated. The hand over hers was warm. Calloused. Strong. It gave her more comfort than she expected. More than she wanted. “It’s time to relax,” he said softly. “We’ll figure it out.”

“Will we?”

“Yeah.” Again the hint of a smile in a jaw that was darkening with beard shadow. He was handsome, not in a bold, rugged way, but more quietly good-looking. Not the first man you would notice in a room of strangers, but one you might gravitate toward, one you would trust, one, if you looked beneath his aloof veneer, was a strong, passionate man with a few secrets he kept locked away.

“Do you have any other patients?” she asked, withdrawing her hand as the waitress, a slip of a girl with streaked blond hair and a mouth too big for her face, returned with their drinks.

“Have you decided?” she asked.

Adam motioned to Caitlyn. “What would you like?”

“Red rice with shrimp and fried okra.” Caitlyn managed a smile. “My father’s favorite. Real Southern cooking.”

Adam chuckled. “And I’ll have pork chops with corn bread and country gravy.”

“Anything else?” the waitress asked.

“Wine?” Adam lifted an eyebrow in offering, but Caitlyn shook her head, couldn’t take the chance. “Maybe a slab of praline pecan pie for dessert,” Adam stage-whispered to the waitress as he handed the girl their menus.

“I’ll see to it.” She sauntered to the next table.

For the first time since Josh had been killed, Caitlyn felt safe. Could unwind a bit. Adam made a couple of corny jokes, caused her to laugh, and she managed to quit worrying, at least for a while. By the time the waitress returned with steaming platters, Caitlyn’s appetite had returned and she dug into the plate of spicy rice and succulent okra.

“I think I owe you an apology,” Caitlyn said when she caught him observing her.

“For?”

“Being a wet blanket. This”—she gestured to the verandah and restaurant—“was a great idea.”

“I thought so.”

“I think I could make it even better,” she said as she sipped her iced tea.

“How so?”

“We could play doctor.” She lifted her eyebrow in a naughty invitation, and when she saw him turn serious, added, “I’ll be the doctor and you be the patient.” He set down his fork.

“Caitlyn?”

“I’m talking about the kind of doctor you are. You know, a Ph.D. My turn to psychoanalyze you for a change.”

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