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something she didn’t like, that you’d quit feeling anything at all? “Nο, I’m not hurting.”
    “Right.”
    “I’m not hurting, Sonnie.”
    “This is a strange conversation, isn’t it? Between strangers, I mean.”
    He considered. “Not so strange, given the reason we’re here.”
    “If you love someone, you’ll do anything. You’ll lie to yourself. You’ll lie to other people—just to give yourself an excuse to keep on believing in the other person.”
    Α lot of thoughts came to him. Not one would make it past his tongue.
    “When you run out of excuses, the darkness opens up at your feet. You walk on the edge of a hole. Then maybe you have to get away. Maybe you have someone else you’ve got to put first.”
    “Is this code for your being in some sort of man trouble?”
    She shook her head once and looked up at him. “There aren’t any men in my life. Not anymore. This conversation feels too personal.”
    “Trouble is always personal.” She was an enigma. If he didn’t know how dangerous caring about someone could be, he’d care about Sonnie’s problems. It was way too dangerous.
    “You don’t have too many cases, do you?”
    He didn’t answer.
    “It’s me. You’re one of those people who can only work with things that interest them. I respect that.”
    “You’re interesting.”
    They both studied the buildings across the street again. “Duval Street,” she said quietly, “where the bars hardly ever close—except for the Rusty Nail.”
    Roy and Bo believed in as close to a regular schedule as they could grab. “That’s right,” Chris said.
    “Why did you quit? Really?”
    “I was a lousy detective.”
    Her incredulous laugh annoyed him.
    “That’s not what I hear,” she said. “Why are you so hard on yourself?”
    If he’d needed a therapist he’d have found one a long time ago. “I’m not hard on myself. I’m a realist. I hope you find someone who can really help you, because you’re nice. Very nice. And you deserve better than me. I’m washed-up. Used up. I’m working at getting my own shit together.” Offending ladies wasn’t a favorite pastime, but she’d hit too many nerves he wanted permanently dead. “I’m no good anymore. To anyone.” Least of all himself. He considered finishing his drink. He didn’t want it.
    “Can I do something to help you?” she asked, her voice so low he only just caught the words.
    Pity. “Save the help for yourself,” he said, and stood up. “I hope you find someone to take on your case. To tell the truth, I’ve kind of priced myself out of the general marketplace. You might even say I’ve become too dangerous to afford.”

 
    Three
     
    The night whined.
    Wet grit whipped against Sonnie’s bare ankles and stung. Despite the rain Duval was crowded, and it was late enough for drunks to rule.
    Chris Talon had offered to bring her home. Offered while he looked at a space somewhere above her right shoulder—probably longing for her to leave. Leave the Rusty Nail, and leave him alone.
    He’d get his wish. She’d leave him alone. But she would continue to work for Bo and Roy because the job got her out and gave her an opportunity to gather information on what was going on around the island, and because she’d accomplish nothing if she stayed at the house and stewed.
    Somewhere on the island there was someone who knew something; there had to be. It could be some small detail that didn’t seem to mean anything to them, but to Sonnie it might be the key to the door she’d been unable to as much as crack.
    Chris Talon thought she couldn’t afford him.
    She could have argued that point but hadn’t felt like it. Lack of enthusiasm oozed from his every pore. She didn’t need help from a man whose disinterest was that obvious.
    He didn’t even know what her problem was.
    She wasn’t sure what her problem was. But she knew she had one, and if she couldn’t get it resolved, she’d never be able to put the pieces of her