Chapter Seven #3
Cal couldn’t say he cared for her certainty in that department.
“It’s just … Sam’s not much older than I am. Jake’s a lot older than both of us. I’m all for a consensual age gap, but if it’s a pattern, it starts to feel a little weird, you know?”
He didn’t know if he’d call it weird, because if he did, he’d have to take a look at some of his own choices. So he said nothing.
Which was a tactical error.
“What’s your pattern look like?”
“Oh, you see, I don’t have a pattern because I have traumatic amnesia, a potential drinking problem, and a weekly appointment with a therapist. I’m staying clear of women and romantic entanglements.”
“Sure. Now. What about back in Texas?”
He had no idea how they’d gotten onto this topic, and the weirdest part was he felt uncomfortable and outmaneuvered and … bested.
He was never bested. “Let’s just say I was committed to my job, not relationships.”
“Just because you didn’t get into committed relationships doesn’t mean there weren’t women. Women who might have followed some kind of pattern even.”
Cal shifted on the bench. Uncomfortable. Maybe embarrassed. What the hell? “I suppose it doesn’t.”
“So. Were they age-appropriate?”
For a moment, Cal just sat there, trying to figure out how he’d been maneuvered into this odd conversation. Why Jill, of all people, was pushing things. Because while she was dogged in some things, protecting her grandmother mostly, he’d never seen her be quite so direct about personal things.
He kind of liked it, and that was very bad.
So Cal slapped his thighs, got to his feet. “Well, we better get back, huh?”
Jill laughed, which kind of surprised him. That she’d find humor in the situation.
She got to her feet too. “I’m not trying to interrogate you. Not really. But you so rarely get squirrely about things without turning it back around on somebody, I couldn’t resist.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Squirrely. Ha.”
But she didn’t press anymore, and they started to walk back toward the diner.
“So who would have done it?” Jill mused.
“Huh?”
“I mean it’s great to prove that Nate didn’t do it and all, but isn’t it easier to prove a fact than try to prove something didn’t happen?”
She was back to Nate. Back to murder. And he was … caught off guard. By far too many things about her. Definitely not a safe place to be. Being on his guard was very important, mostly for all those reasons he’d outlined for steering clear of romantic entanglements.
He thought about her question, because it seemed safer than thinking about her. “I guess it is easier to prove a fact than a negative.”
“So, if Nate didn’t do it, who did?”
“I feel like everyone’s bet is on the ex-husband. Isn’t it always the husband?” It sure had been with his mother’s murder.
“Sure, but you need proof. And last time I checked, your brother was a private investigator. He should be focused on getting some proof of who’s guilty, not just who’s innocent.”
“I think he’s been a little more focused on keeping Sam from imploding, but you’ve got a good point.
” No, not just a good point. An excellent point.
Tricky though. “Anything Nate or Sam would find would be suspect, though. From a legal perspective. I mean, you can’t argue incontrovertible proof, but a good defense attorney could undermine it if Sam and Nate were the ones to find it. ”
“Sure, if they go by the book.”
He looked down at her, a little surprised, a little amused. “Are you suggesting we don’t go by the book?”
Jill shrugged. “The truth is what matters, right? Not the book or the rules.”
“I like the way you think, Harrington.” They arrived back at the diner. Cal stopped before the entrance. “Well, thanks for the walk. I’m going to go tell Sam and Nate your suggestion.”
“Yeah. Good. Good luck on everything.” She reached out and tried to take her bag from him.
He found himself holding onto it for a few seconds before releasing it reluctantly, not at all sure why. “Your scene. I read it. I made notes and everything.”
“Nate’s more important. Just email them to me. If I have questions, I’ll give you a call.”
“Sure, okay. I’ll do that.”
“Great. Thanks, Cal.” She moved for the door, and he took a few steps down the sidewalk.
But he couldn’t quite convince himself to do the smart thing and just walk away. “Hey, Jill?”
She turned, head cocked. The sun shone on her dark hair. The deep purple of her coat seemed to tease out the olive tone of her skin. He’d do well to keep his damn mouth shut, but Cal had never been very good at taking the do well path.
“What do you consider much older?”
She looked at him curiously. But she didn’t need him to explain he was going back to earlier in their conversation. “Well, I guess … more than ten years.”
“And how old are you?”
Her mouth twitched, like she was fighting a smile. “Twenty-eight.”
“Ah. Well, I’m thirty-seven.” He let that hang there. Nine years, not ten.
“I guess you’re not much older than me then.”
“Guess not.” He grinned at her, even though he absolutely should not. “See you later.”