“Well, don’t waste your smiles on me,” she said irritably. It bothered her that he had such an effect on her. “Save them for someone who isn’t on a case.”
If anything, his smile widened, grew even more amused. “I’ve been thinking about the case. Not Jessie’s, but the Night Light murder.”
“What about it?”
“That episode we just talked about, with the beauty queen. The killer turned out to be her husband eliminating anyone causing trouble for her. The same thing could have happened on Sea Smoke Island. What if Kate’s ex came to the island and tried to win her back by getting rid of the man harassing her?”
She gazed at him over the rim of her margarita glass. The theory had merit. “We know he has psychological issues.”
“Exactly. Untreated paranoid schizophrenia doesn’t exactly leave a person balanced and able to deal with tough situations.”
He ran his thumb across the base of his margarita glass, a gesture she found oddly hypnotic.
“Well, whether he was the Night Light killer or not, he definitely terrorized his own family. No wonder Adam Johnson knows all about trauma. He experienced it himself from his earliest days. The question is whether he’s processed it or not. Lingering trauma can surface in all kinds of ways.”
His face tightened with anxiety.
“Hey, hey, don’t jump to any conclusions yet.” She knew exactly what he was picturing—his sister in the hands of someone unpredictable and dangerous. “From everything we’ve heard, it’s a topic he’s very familiar with.”
“Yeah, but here’s what scares me. Some people go into therapy and learn nothing except how to use the lingo to manipulate. He’s already caused a lot of harm. He dumped Marigold in a very humiliating way.”
“If that’s the worst he’s done, we can relax. Everyone gets dumped at some point. I’ve been dumped three-point-five times.”
“Three point five?”
“The fourth time, we broke up with each other simultaneously. It was almost eerie, how in sync we were. Almost made me reconsider.”
Why was he laughing? He always seemed to find her so funny. Was that good or bad?
“You’re laughing with me, not at me, right?” she asked, double-checking to make sure.
“I don’t even know. You just make me laugh, sorry. Hope it doesn’t bother you.”
“Should it?”
“Absolutely not. It takes nothing away from the vast respect I have for your abilities. Hell, if gunfire broke out right now, I wouldn’t even be worried. You’d handle it.”
Her eyebrows drew together as she contemplated that absurd level of confidence in her talents. “I’m not Neo, I can’t stop bullets. If gunfire broke out, you know what to do. Hit the floor. Dive behind something that serves as a shield. Think about season five, episode eight. Remember when?—”
“The coffee delivery guy turned out to be a Russian assassin? Oh yeah.” He rubbed his elbow in rueful memory. “No stunt double for that one. He was out sick. We did five takes of that damn scene.”
“Good,” she said seriously. “Then you’ll have muscle memory working for you.”
He threw his head back in a laugh. “I feel like we’re getting off track here. My point was that I can laugh with you or at you because I find you funny, but I still respect you completely. Fair?”
“Fair.” She sipped her margarita, thinking it over. “But maybe you should withhold your judgement on my abilities until we actually locate Adam/Seth/Lloyd.”
He considered that, then nodded. “That’s fair, too. But just to be clear, I’m not putting it all on you. It’s my job to find my sister. You’re being kind enough to help me on your hard-earned vacation time.”
Maybe it was the tequila she’d already sipped, but she appreciated that statement. She always put all of herself into an investigation, and if it didn’t go well, she beat herself up. The fact that he was explicitly telling her it wasn’t all her responsibility made something inside her ease. That relentless pressure she put on herself—possibly inherited from her parents’ drive to succeed in a new world—was so constant that she wasn’t even aware of it.
Until a moment like now, with a pleasant buzz on, and her longtime TV crush sitting across from her. A crush who’d just told her that she wasn’t on her own in this.
“You’re really attractive.” The words slid out of her as if they were sledding on frozen tequila, which they were.
“Thanks.” His eyes gleamed at her. “Glad you think so.”
“I mean, it’s not my opinion. It’s just fact. You’re objectively attractive.”
