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looks up at me. “I’m going to call Forensics. I think there might be more than paint here.”

CHAPTER 3
    Zack and I are seated on an outside patio in a restaurant not far from Amy’s condo. Our forensics team is busy inside, and since we just seemed to be in the way, Zack and I left to grab lunch while we await their findings.
    “You really think there might be blood on the floor?” I ask to break the silence that’s fallen.
    Zack takes a pull of his iced tea. “I think it’s worth looking into. Call it a hunch.”
    Or a Were sensibility. Could it be Zack was able to smell two-week-old blood through the paint? If so, neat trick.
    Silence descends once more. We’ve exhausted the subject of the case. My choices are small talk or the topic we’ve been avoiding all day. I suck at small talk. So I drag in a deep breath and go for the second. “It’s lunchtime. Time for that awkward conversation you and I need to have.”
    It’s hot. Zack and I have both shed our jackets. Our food has been in front of us for all of two minutes. He’s gone for a double portion of slaw with his pulled pork sandwich. I’ve picked the corn on the cob and the onion rings. Admittedly the corn was a mistake. The kernels are shriveled like raisins from sitting in water for too long.
    Zack makes a face. “I was hoping you’d forgotten.” He scrunches his napkin into a ball and tosses it on the table. “Looks like it’ll be an early dinner tonight. Next time, I pick the place.”
    “Don’t change the subject. What are you doing here?”
    “I’d say enjoying barbecue, but that would be a bald-faced lie.” He pushes his plate back, then combs his fingers through his hair. I notice it looks a little lighter in the full sun.
    I lean back in my chair and cross my arms over my chest. “You know what I mean.”
    He sighs. “You’re pissed.”
    “You thought I wouldn’t be?”
    He takes a bite of his sandwich and chews. Since he’s so eloquently expressed his opinion of the food, I know he’s stalling. I’m not one of those people who feel the need to fill gaps of silence with needless chatter, so I just wait.
    Finally he answers, “I guess I hoped you wouldn’t be.” He leans forward, forearms on the table. “I remember what you said about not being able to afford anything complicated. I’ve played by your rules. No cards. No flowers.” There’s a long pause and then he asks, “I suppose it’s too much to hope for that you’re pissed because I didn’t send flowers?”
    “Way too much to hope for. At the airport we agreed there wouldn’t be any calls, any emails . . .”
    He nods. “And there haven’t been. Look, I didn’t come here with the expectation that we’d pick up where we left off in Charleston. You made your feelings perfectly clear.”
    I’m not sure I believe him, but I desperately want to. “Then why are you here?”
    Zack wears a ring on his right hand. It’s gold and reminiscent of a wedding band, engraved with a pattern resembling a tangle of thorns. He taps it three times on the table. Then the explanation comes out in a rush. “Let’s just say I’ve been struggling with my career path.”
    Not the answer I was expecting. It brings a rush of relief right along with a not so surprising flash of disappointment.
    “Go on,” I say.
    “After the case we worked in Charleston, there was a lot of pressure for me to join the hostage rescue team. It was like at the Academy, only worse.”
    “I don’t understand. What happened at the Academy?”
    He shrugs. “My marksmanship scores were perfect. They recommended me for sniper training. Wanted me on the HRT then. It’s not what I wanted.”
    “Because?”
    “I have my reasons. Can we just leave it at that?”
    I nod. “For now.” The guys in HRT are a tight-knit group. It’d be tough to hide going furry three nights a month in that environment. That’s reason enough for him to avoid the assignment. But I’m somehow left with the