“I see.”
“You can rest assured she won’t make it past me a second time, Mr. Fletcher. Her father’s banned her from the building, too, so you don’t have anything to worry about.”
“I appreciate that,” Roy said, pushing through the glass doors, but as he walked out of the building, he realized that wasn’t true. Despite everything, he’d enjoyed his encounter with Julie, reveled in it. He felt alive in ways he’d forgotten.
Roy turned back. “Do you know which direction she was headed?” he asked the guard.
Jason looked surprised. “North, I’d guess.”
“Thanks.” Roy was going south himself, but a small detour wouldn’t be amiss. He didn’t think she’d accept a ride, but he’d ask. Perhaps a brisk walk would help her vent her anger and make her a little more amenable to reaching some kind of agreement.
Roy drove a black Lincoln Continental with tinted glass. He could see out but no one could see in, which was precisely the way he wanted it. He exited onto the main street heading north and stayed in the right-hand lane. He drove a couple of miles, mildly impressed by how far she’d gotten. She’d made good time. Perhaps she’d grown tired and taken a bus. Or perhaps she’d hailed a taxi.
Then he saw her, walking at a quick pace, arms swinging at her sides. Roy reduced his speed to a crawl as he approached her. Traffic wove around him, some cars honking with irritation, but he ignored them and pulled up alongside Julie. With the touch of a button, the passenger-side window glided down.
She glanced in his direction and her eyes widened when she recognized him.
“Get in,” he said.
“Why should I?”
Time to play nice, he figured. “Please.”
She hesitated, then walked to the curb and leaned down to talk to him. “Give me one reason I should do anything you say.”
“I’ll drive you home.”
That didn’t appear to influence her. “I’m halfway there already.”
Horns blared behind him. “If you don’t hurry up and decide, I’ll get a traffic ticket.”
“Good. It’s what you deserve.”
“Julie, come on, be reasonable. I said please.”
She looked away and then capitulated. “Oh, all right.”
She certainly wasn’t gracious about it, but he felt thankful that she opened the passenger door without further ado and slid into the car. As he hit the gas, she fastened her seat belt.
“Give me your address,” he said.
Obediently she rattled off the street and house number.
Now that she was in the car, Roy couldn’t think of the right conversational gambit. He had no intention of meeting her demands and she apparently wasn’t interested in complying with his. Silly woman. With the stroke of a pen, she could be twenty-five thousand dollars richer, but she was too stubborn to do it. Perhaps she was looking for more.
“You don’t have anything to say?” she asked him after a moment.
“Nope. What about you?”
“Not a thing,” she returned testily.
He eased off the main thoroughfare and onto a quiet side street. It was a middle-class neighborhood of older homes, mostly small ramblers with a few brick houses interspersed among them, just enough to keep the neighborhood from being termed a development.
“Are you ready to listen to reason yet?” he asked as if he possessed limitless patience and was more than willing to wait her out.
“Are you ready to accept responsibility and write me an apology?”
“Not on your life.”
“I’m not signing that settlement offer, either,” she said, tossing him a saccharine smile. She exhaled sharply. “You can rest easy about one thing, however.”
He looked away from the road to glance at her.
“I can’t afford an attorney.”
Far be it from Roy to point out that in liability cases lawyers were more than happy to accept a chunk of the settlement. Generally it was a big chunk. “Sorry to hear that.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet you are.” She closed her eyes and leaned back.
Roy didn’t completely understand why, but he found himself not wanting to drop her off at her house; he wanted to continue driving so they could talk. “We should discuss it further. Perhaps we could reach a compromise.”
“Like what? I take twelve thousand five hundred dollars and you just apologize and don’t accept responsibility?”
“Something like that. Why don’t we have coffee and talk it over?”
Julie’s head snapped up. “You’re joking, right? Did I hear you invite me to coffee?”
“A gesture of peace and goodwill,” he said in a conciliatory tone. “I hear this is the season for it.”
“Oh, puh-leeze.” She crossed her arms. “Thanks but no thanks.”
Roy shrugged off her rejection, although he had to admit he was disappointed. “I was only trying to be helpful.”
“Were you?” Her eyes narrowed with suspicion.
“It’s no big deal.”
“You’re sincere?”
“Yes,” he said simply. He felt her scrutiny as he drove.
“Fine,” she agreed, “but I’d like to suggest we have coffee at my house.”
Roy pulled to a stop in front of the address she’d given him. It was a small, well-kept house, probably two bedrooms. Green shutters bordered the windows and a rocking chair sat on the front porch. Christmas lights were strung along the roofline.
“You have coffee on?” he asked.
“No, but I’ll make a pot.”
“Why not a restaurant? Neutral territory.”
“Because,” she said, and sighed heavily. “I’d feel more comfortable on home turf.”
He considered that. “Should I worry about being poisoned?”
“Hmm.” A smile teased the edges of her mouth. “That’s an interesting possibility.”
“Perhaps we can use this as a lesson in compromise,” he said.
“Compromise? How do you mean?”
“If I come onto
