“That’s what I said.”

But this time, I recognized the unfamiliar hostility for what it was: defensiveness. It was easy to recognize; I was feeling some of it myself. “What did you talk about?”

Something flickered in Deputy Bobby’s eyes, but he said, “I told you. I apologized.”

I made a noise of understanding.

His gaze flicked to me for less than a heartbeat, and then he wrenched it back to the trees again.

“Did you write down what you wanted to say to him?” I asked.

Deputy Bobby didn’t answer.

“Did you?” I asked again.

“I appreciate you—”

“You didn’t, did you?” The question dropped open like a trap door between us. After a moment, I said, “Of course you didn’t.”

Now he looked at me. A dusky flush rose under his golden-olive skin. Even in the canopy’s deep shadows, his pupils looked hard and small. “I didn’t need to write anything down. I just needed to apologize. We both overreacted, and now it’s all over.”

“You overreacted? Really? Do you remember last night?”

“I remember that this is my relationship. Mine. And I don’t need your opinion or your commentary.” He struggled to add, in an approximation of his normal voice, “Thank you for being worried, but I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

The old Dash would have let it drop there. Heck, the old Dash never would have gotten this far in the first place. But apparently, having your entire life turned upside down and shaken like a dollhouse goes a long way toward helping you deal with your conflict avoidance patterns. Also, confronting murderers didn’t hurt. So even though I tried to do what he asked, I felt myself already starting to speak.

“Big surprise,” I said, “you don’t want to talk about it. Well, too bad. God, why are you being such a—such a dude about this? You’re so smart. Most of the time. You’re so funny and kind and generous and good. And you deserve to be happy. Instead, you give me this nonsense about how everything’s fine and it all blew over. Stuff like this doesn’t blow over. That’s why you’re so unhappy!”

My shout echoed out into the trees. The branches above us shifted in the breeze, and shadows rose and fell on Deputy Bobby’s face. He stared at me. The hurt in his face was already closing, hardening, turning into a wall I didn’t know how to get past.

“I am happy,” Deputy Bobby said.

“No, you’re not. You don’t want to move to Portland. You don’t want to give up working in law enforcement. You don’t want to be a doctor, or whatever you think you’re supposed to do. You don’t want to do any of that. And I don’t know why you can’t just tell him.”

“I’m fine, for your information. West and I are fine.”

I shook my head, and now I was the one to look away.

“You know something, Dash?” He laughed—part scoff, part scorn, and it was the first time, I realized distantly, I’d ever heard Deputy Bobby try to hurt somebody. “For someone who whines and moans about how bad he is at relationships, you’re sure quick to talk about stuff you don’t know anything about.”

Deeper among the trees, a bird broke into flight—a flurried flap of wings that shattered the stillness. The sound of tires on pavement came next, and a sheriff’s office cruiser came over the hill.

The weight of Deputy Bobby’s gaze rested on me for another long moment. And then, without another word, he got in his car and left.

Chapter 13

I told Salk what had happened. At least, I think I told him. My body seemed to be on autopilot while my brain played back snatches of that horrible argument with Deputy Bobby. Salk looked around. He couldn’t find a shell casing. He couldn’t find a bullet. I think he believed me, but all my higher-level functions had come unplugged, and none of it seemed to matter. He called a tow truck. He waited with me.

Mr. Del Real, who owned Swift Lift Towing, told me someone had tampered with the alternator. I thought about how I’d parked right next to the service garage. About how Nate had disappeared in that direction after I’d tried to talk to him the first time. But it wasn’t just Nate who could have done it. Ali Rivas basically had a part-time job disabling machinery. And against my will, I remembered that Jen had told me Damian was good with cars.

As Mr. Del Real was hooking up the Jeep, Salk said, “I think you’re in shock. Let me take you to the medical center.”

I shook my head. “I just want to go home.”

Which was how, about an hour later, I ended up in bed.

A while later, the shadows had changed, deepened, and now the room was dark. I wasn’t sure I’d slept. I didn’t know where I’d been. Someone was knocking at the door.

“Dashiell, dear,” Indira called through the wood. “Would you mind opening the door? We’re all a bit worried about you.”

I thought about ignoring her. But that had never worked with the Last Picks, so I said, “I’m fine. I just need some time alone.”

“Did you hear that?” Millie said. It was like she was standing right next to the bed, by the way. “Did you hear his voice? He’s definitely NOT FINE.”

“I am fine,” I said. “I’m totally fine. I’ll be down for dinner.”

The strained silence on the other side of the door told me I’d made a mistake. I glanced at the clock. It was after nine, which seemed impossible—had I really spent all day in here?

Apparently so, because now my brain told me that my bladder situation was approaching a nuclear meltdown.

“Dash.” This time it was Fox. “Indira made you—well, she made you pretty much everything. There’s a hamburger. There’s a quesadilla. There’s eight-cheese pasta, because remember you told her that four cheeses weren’t enough? And where are we at on the cakes?”

Indira’s answer was muffled.

“We’re up to five,” Fox announced with an overabundance of cheer. “Don’t you want to know what they are?”

Before I could stop myself, I asked, “Is one of them spice cake?”

“Yes, one of them is definitely spice cake.”

“Is one of them peanut butter cheesecake?”

“Uh, sure.”

“What about the apple one that she makes in the skillet?”

“I guess you’ll have to come see,” Fox said.

That part wasn’t quite as appealing.

“Besides,” Fox added, “Millie is going to cry if you don’t let us make sure you’re okay, and you don’t want Millie to cry, do you?”

I did not. I had the feeling that the phrase “gale-force winds” would be involved.

When I opened the door, the three of them were standing right outside my room: Indira’s face was grave; Fox was aiming at cheerful and landing closer to manic; and Millie—