so her friend Sherry had convinced her to speak—just once—to the Omega Sector psychiatrist over the phone. That “just once” had then turned into talking to Dr. Parker every couple of weeks.
If Caroline called Grace Parker right now—and she had no doubt Grace would take the call—would Grace tell Caroline there was nothing to fear? To just put one foot in front of the other?
No, she would tell Caroline that only Caroline could determine what would be the best thing to do. That pushing herself too far did more damage than it did good.
Her phone buzzed in her hand and she looked down to read the text.
How do you look in the mirror knowing your lies?
She rolled her eyes. Another one? This was getting out of hand. Caroline wasn’t big on smartphones in general, so she didn’t do a lot with hers. But she had to see if there was a way to block these texts.
The text was almost enough to distract her from her fear of entering the house. She took a step forward, then stopped, wiping her hand across her face.
She couldn’t go in right now.
The thought frustrated her, but she let it go. It was okay. She would go to the Silver Eagle, a bar in town, and relax for a little while. A lot of the law enforcement and EMT gang hung out there. She could have a drink or a bite to eat or just chat. Get someone to show her how to block the annoying texts. When she was done, maybe she’d be more ready to face the big scary front door.
Once the decision was made, she didn’t second-guess her choice, just jogged back to her truck, throwing her duffel in the passenger seat beside her. The ride to the bar didn’t take long and she knew she’d made the right decision when she pulled into the lot.
Kimmie’s little VW Beetle was parked here and almost every spot was full. Caroline would chat and unwind for an hour or two. She would face her town house when she was ready.
It had been a bad day. This would hopefully make it better.
She grabbed her purse, got out of the truck and made her way inside. The familiar smell of beer and fried food assailed her, as did the country music pouring at a perfect volume from the speakers. She smiled at Kimmie, who waved for Caroline to come join the people at her table.
Maybe being here wouldn’t make her fears back at the town house just disappear, but nothing could make this day worse.
She glanced over at the bar as she walked toward Kimmie and almost stumbled as she found her gaze trapped by the brown eyes of Zane Wales. Compelling her, drawing her in, as always. She forced herself to look away from him.
Her day definitely just got worse.
Zane Wales didn’t come into the Silver Eagle very often. A lot of law enforcement guys hung out there, and generally Zane didn’t need a reminder of what he no longer did for a living.
But today had been a long, weird day and Zane had found himself here an hour ago, rather than going straight back to his house on the outskirts of Corpus Christi. Just for a beer, a bite to eat. Hoping maybe none of the detective force would even be here.
They were all here.
If he could back out without any of them seeing him, he would’ve. But Captain Harris, along with Wade Ammons and Raymond Stone, both detectives Zane had worked with when he’d been on the force, waved him over to the bar where they sat as soon as they saw him.
Zane liked all three of the men—he really did. He chatted with them for a while before Wade and Raymond saw some ladies who interested them and said their goodbyes.
“How’s the private aircraft charter business treating you?” Captain Harris asked as he took a sip of his beer.
Zane chewed a bite of the burger he’d ordered. “Today was different than most. A little crazy.”
“How so?”
“Fog was causing problems up and down the interstate, so I got called for an emergency organ donation delivery. A heart. Flew it into Houston.”
The entire flight had been tense—a very real deadline looming in front of them. Zane hadn’t been sure if the deadline was because of the patient waiting for the heart or if the heart itself was only viable for so long. The two-person organ donation team flying with him hadn’t said. They’d just told him the deadline.
Zane had gotten them there. Not much time to spare, but enough. He hoped the surgery had been successful.
“Yeah, fog was hell around here for us too this morning. Multicar pileup with a drunk driver. Half dozen other accidents that took up all our resources. Hell, even Wade and Raymond were out helping today.”
That would’ve meant Caroline had a hard day. Not that he could do anything about that. Moreover, not that she would want him to do anything about that.
“Must have been a mess if you had to pull in Wade and Raymond.”
“Sounds like your day was equally exciting. Heart transplant. Important stuff. I’ll bet you miss that on a daily basis when you’re carting around cargo or rich people from place to place.”
“Don’t start, Tim.” Zane already knew what was coming. A conversation they’d had more than once in the seventeen months and six days since Zane had quit the department.
“Son, I’ve known you since you were in elementary school. I had no hesitation at all about hiring you straight out of college or promoting you to detective, even after the trouble you got into in your younger years.”
Evidently the man wouldn’t be deterred. Zane raised his beer slightly in salute. “I know. And I appreciate it. High school was tough after Dad died.”
“You can’t tell me that running your air charter business means as much to you as chasing down criminals did.”
Captain Harris was right; Zane couldn’t say that with any sort of honesty. He enjoyed his business, loved to fly, loved working for himself, but it didn’t challenge him the way working for the force had. Didn’t challenge him nearly as much mentally or physically.
But Zane had lost his edge. Lost what had made him a good cop the day Caroline was attacked.
“I don’t have it anymore, Tim. Don’t have what it takes.”
Captain Harris scoffed. “Don’t have what, exactly? You’re still in just as good a shape. I know you have a permit for that concealed Glock you’re carrying.”
Zane didn’t ask how the older man knew that. But he was right. Zane had never stopped carrying the gun, even after he’d quit the force. He just now had a different permit for it.
“I’ll bet you have just as much practice on it and have aim just as precise as you did when you worked for me.”
Zane shrugged one shoulder as he took a sip of his beer. “Just because I can hit what I’m aiming for doesn’t mean I’m good as a law enforcement officer, Cap.”
