Page 151 of The Lonely Road

“Need it.”

He settles into a client chair, and I make coffee. I set a cup in front of him and drink mine like it’s an elixir.

“He’s back,” he says after a long sip.

“I heard—because everyone won’t shut up about it.”

“I just wanted to remind you that I told you so.”

“Go to hell.”

He lets out a short bark of laughter. “You hear from Griffin yet?”

“No.”

He nods thoughtfully. “You will. His wife’s mother passed away, so he’s been out of town.”

I raise my eyebrows. “TMI, Kaz.”

“Just sayin’.”

“Is that why you came here? To ask me about Griffin? You could’ve texted.”

He grins. “Ah, but I wanted to see your beautiful face.”

“This beautiful face needs to get back to work. Aldridge is filing motions like they’re going out of fashion.”

“The desperate moves of a well-funded law firm.” He drains his cup. “How did Colbeck respond to your complaint about the intimidation of Clara Whitman?”

“He’s hopping mad. But he accepted the rogue actor assessment—partly because he saw Sheriff Dillon’s report alongside mine.”

“We’re keeping Jessup out of it.” Kaz runs a hand through his hair. “I haven’t told Mason about the Griffin angle.”

I cock an eyebrow. “None of his business anyway.”

“Taya, men have a way of deciding what’s their business when it comes to their women.”

I let out a brittle laugh. “His woman? What are you smoking?”

“Whatever it is, it’s not nearly enough. I’m too sober for this conversation.”

And tired.

He looks exhausted. He’s winding down a career at the Bureau with only a few weeks left to close the Jessup operation.

He rises. “You hear from Griffin—you reach out to me. Immediately.”

“Aye, aye,” I mock.

I walk him out, wallet in hand, intending to find food, when we see Bree marching down Main Street.

Her pace suggests she has been waiting for this moment, has had the address and approximate arrival time for some time, and has been building toward it with the focused energy of a woman ready to kick some ass and take some names.

Joy is beside her, slightly behind, wearing the expression of a friend who agreed to be present for moral support and is now privately reconsidering whether she should have brought bail money.

“Uh-oh,” I say, almost gleefully.

“Hell.” Kaz looks simultaneously like he’s dreading what’s coming and relieved it’s finally here.