She didn’t answer.
“Can’t even comment on that?” he asked, hitching up an eyebrow. “Well, anyway, when I saw that ring, it took more self-control than I knew I had not to shoot him right then and there. Right between those vacant eyes. I wanted to be looking into them when he died, to see if they would register a smidgen of humanity even then.”
“Thank God you didn’t act on that impulse,” Dylan murmured.
“Reason prevailed, but my bloodlust put up one hell of a fight.”
He stopped there, having said as much as he intended to. If she was going to respond at all, now was the time. He looked at her expectantly, hoping she would feel compelled to give him something.
She said, “Granted, Roland’s size and stolid demeanor can be intimidating.”
“Has he ever intimidated you?”
“No.”
“Warned you against telling tales about him?”
“Mitch, I can’t and won’t reveal anything that Roland has discussed with me. But Iwilltell you what hehasn’t. He hasn’t told me anything about his business affairs other than to complain about the day-to-day headaches of managing a successful restaurant.
“He’s never mentioned any associates, by name or otherwise. Never.” She paused before adding, “He hasn’t confessed to a crime, certainly nothing like the ones you’ve attributed to him.”
“Then what do y’all talk about for fifty minutes, the weather?”
She shot to her feet. He reached for her hand and held on. “Bad joke, bad timing.”
“It was,” she said and pulled away.
He raked his hair back and kept his hands cupped around his head. Jesus, he was tired. He closed his eyes and tried to remember when he’d last slept. He lowered his hands and wearily looked up at Dylan.
“I’ve made my position plain. You’ve done the same. I don’t know what more either of us could say.” He tipped his head toward the main bedroom. “Go to bed. I hope John changed the sheets before he left the last time he was here.”
“What about you?”
“Oh, I always change the sheets for company.”
She laughed, then said softly and with concern, “Will you sleep? You look exhausted. Does it hurt?” She motioned toward his middle.
“Twinges, pulls a little, but it’s not bad. I’ll hit the hay after shooting a text to Mary to show to Andrew as soon as he wakes up. I send him silly GIFs. He likes those.” He nodded toward the bedroom again. “Off you go.”
“Good night.”
“Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”
“Ugh! Don’t even joke about that.”
“Wasn’t joking.”
But she knew he was. She smiled a small smile, the kind where your lips don’t separate and it never quite makes it to your eyes. Then she turned and took a few steps before coming back around.
“Mitch, if Malone had confessed to doing something like you’ve alleged, I’d be wrestling with a moral dilemma that would test my professionalism and code of ethics to the extreme. Please believe that.”
Saying nothing further, she went into the bedroom. Within minutes after she closed the door, the light underneath it went out. Mitch stayed as he was and pondered the ambiguity of her exit line.
She hadn’t said that if Malone had confessed, she would heave professional privilege out the nearest window. She’d said only that her code would betested. But she’d referred to him asMalone for the first time, not Roland as she always had before. He hoped that signaled that she was looking at him through a different lens.
He went into the guest room and fished his phone and its battery from the pocket of the windbreaker. He replaced the battery only long enough to find a GIF he thought Andrew would like. He sent it, ending the text with, Tell Andrew that he’s my rock star and that I love him.
Roland was sitting on the edge of his bed, anxiously awaiting a phone call. Following his conversation with Oz about getting rid of El Paso, he’d gone up to the luxurious residence he’d created for himself above the restaurant and gotten into bed. But his brain had refused to shut down and let him sleep.
