It was the first time he’d ever had a lady complain about that fact; he let himself smile at the charge. And because he understood the reason and knew it wasn’t personal, he chose to overlook the raw mood she was in. “I wasn’t followed here, and the night shift downstairs doesn’t look old enough to care about the news,” he reassured. “I brought salad, breadsticks, and lasagna. It will beat whatever room service offered.”
Her gaze shifted to the sack. “It does.” He saw her begin to relax, her weight shifting on her sock feet and the tension in her face fading toward deep tiredness. She offered a smile. “What would you like to drink? Vending is at the end of the hall.”
“Something diet and caffeine free.”
She nodded and left the room. He watched her walk away, wondering briefly just how deep that fatigue he could see went. She didn’t reach a hand out to run along the wall for balance, and at its worst she probably would have. They both needed this day to be over.
He turned his attention back to the hotel room. A small, round table and chairs overlooked the parking lot; he walked over to the table and set down the briefcase and sack he carried. He moved aside the jacket tossed over a chair and set it down on the nearest of the two beds. She’d folded a newspaper back together into a rough neatness, and he moved it from the table as well.
The aspirin bottle on the nightstand looked new, the broken seal resting beside the alarm clock. She’d been for a walk to one of the area stores, he suspected; he’d seen a couple down the block from the hotel. He was surprised to see a thriller resting facedown on the bed-reading to pass the time didn’t surprise him, but the subject matter did.
He began unpacking the sack he had brought. She came back into the room and set cold sodas on the table, then slid into the chair opposite him. He studied her, trying to get a read on her underlying mood. Brittle was going to take a finesse he didn’t naturally have. “It’s late, but I didn’t figure you would be sleeping much yet.”
“Safe guess.” She cracked open her soda and took a long drink. “You have an odd profession, standing over dead people, going home to family, playing with your kids, watching the late news, getting up in the morning to a bowl of cereal for breakfast and the newspaper, as if the day part of your life were normal.”
He paused. She’d seen violence today; she knew he saw that kind of violence often. He found it oddly touching that she was trying to square it up in her mind-how he handled it. “It’s the fact the job is so abnormal that makes the rest of the day reassuringly normal. And in my case, it’s two dogs, a cat, a nearby sister, her kids, and a preference for bacon and eggs.”
She smiled. “I never outgrew the preference to skip breakfast and catch the extra sleep.”
He handed her a plate. “What’s your real name?”
She blinked; then her smile softened. “Amanda Griffin. Amy to friends. It’s been years since I used it; the name feels stale.”
“Thanks.”
“You’d run the prints anyway. I was in the army for quite a while, so I’m on file.”
The fact she’d just handed him the information shifted around his perspective on her. She filled her plate and he filled his. The army was an unusual career choice-either she was an army brat who grew up around the service or she probably had an older sibling who had entered the army ahead of her. “Did you enjoy the army?”
“Yes. I’m very good at logistics.”
He tucked away the direct way she said it and liked it. Confidence wasn’t this lady’s problem. He nodded to the television and turned the conversation back to the present. “We don’t have him yet.”
He saw her tension begin to return. “I’ve been watching the news. It’s been quite a thing to see from a distance, the manhunt going on. You’ll find him.”
“We will.” He picked up a breadstick. “I need you to go through what happened for a formal statement.”
“I know. After we eat.”
Her attention shifted away into her memories, and he waited until she resumed her dinner. “I’m sorry you had to see it. Not much will take that image away.”
“Paula was twenty-two going on sixteen. There should be angels protecting people that innocent from making bad lifetime decisions.”
“She married young?”
“Seventeen. He gambled and she didn’t know it. The marriage lasted until she was twenty, and it was already a year too long.” She shook her head. “Sad all around.”
“Are you running from someone in the military days?”
She set down her fork. “Would you let me not answer and not go probing?”
“In forty-eight hours you’re going to disappear on me, and I need to know how that decision can be changed.”
“Knowing won’t change reality. It will just put you personally at risk.”
“It’s my choice.”
“And mine to live with for having told you.” She broke a breadstick in two and studied the broken bread, and while it was obvious the mere topic had brought back bad memories, she seemed more reflective than afraid. She set the breadstick pieces on her plate and looked over to meet his gaze. “Let it go for now. Until I’ve slept on the events of today I’m not going to consider answering questions about my past. You’ve got enough to ask tonight just on the facts of today.”
He studied her, the face pale, the hair slightly messed, but at ease with herself and clear in her words. She was segmenting the problems in her life and coping; he admired that fact even as he wished he knew what was driving her. Whatever her past-and he could make a few pretty clear guesses-it was going to be a lot deeper hurt than what she’d seen today. But trust was a tenuous thing, and for now the answers he sought were going to stay protected. He stabbed a leaf of lettuce with his fork as he nodded. “Fair enough.”
“Thanks.”
He thought she might push away her plate, for she’d been eating some but toying with the food more, but she picked up her fork and turned her attention back to the meal. She was either hungry under that overwhelming tiredness or wise enough to eat a good meal while she could. He wasn’t going to speculate on which it was; he didn’t think he’d like the answer.
He talked her into taking seconds on the lasagna and between them they finished the take-out container. “Have a preference for ice cream? I’ll stop at the corner deli tomorrow.”
She smiled as she tore open one of the chocolate mints that had come with the carryout meal. “I hear a small bribe in that offer. Fudge ripple, cookie dough, chocolate cherry-I’m easy to please. I appreciate this; not many guys would have thought to stop to bring a meal.”
“I was hungry and not in the mood to cook once I got home. And while I’m sorry for the occasion, it is nice to have company for a meal for a change.” He opened the other mint package and considered what the chocolate would do to his sleep when it finally came. Coffee didn’t bother him, but chocolate for some reason tended to keep him awake. A stop at the office was still in his immediate future. He ate the mint.
“Were you able to stop at home at least long enough to walk your dogs?”
He smiled. “Chester and Wilks are fine; they’ve got a dog door into a fenced backyard to come and go as they please. A burglar wants to try and get past those two, let him try.” He motioned to the containers. “Finished?”
She nodded.
He stored away the remaining salad and the plates in the sack and wiped the table while she threw away the trash. He opened his briefcase and retrieved the laptop he used when he was on the road and a pocket cassette recorder.
Amy didn’t sit down. “Would you like another drink?”
“Sure.”
She left for a minute, returning with two more sodas. She settled back into the seat across from him, the smile no longer near, stiller now.
He watched her, calculating the best way to handle this. “Have you given a police statement before?”
“Yes.”
He absorbed that quiet answer and wondered not that it had been done but the number of them she’d probably given. He was more accustomed to seeing nerves during an interview rather than this stillness. “Since it’s just a matter of time before some reporter has a copy of this, I’m going to use your name, address, and personal information off your employment application. I’ll make the officer or clerk who shares the statement regret it dearly,
