LITMIR.BIZ

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don’t know. From what I heard Lila saying on the phone, she was trying to discourage him from meeting with me. She came to the festival to beg him to call it off.”

      “That makes no sense.”

      “She said if he met with me, it might get them both killed.”

      “Are you sure he didn’t tell you anything in the email that would explain why he wanted to meet you?”

      She shook her head. He gave her an appraising look that went on long enough to make her uncomfortable. Police technique, she imagined.

      There was another half hour of questioning, the last part of which was directed at Dan.

      “How do you know Tank Guzman, Dr. Blackwater?”

      Dan massaged his shoulder, grimacing. “I volunteer at the Cobalt Clinic. He came in maybe a month ago needing some stitches and a tooth repaired because he’d been in a fight, he said. Lila helped patch up his tooth, and I did the stitching.”

      “What was the fight about?”

      Dan shrugged. “We just provide services to people who can’t afford it. Period. We’re not there to delve into their private lives unless they want to share.”

      “Convenient.”

      She saw Dan’s mouth tighten a fraction.

      “I didn’t ask,” he said, “and he didn’t tell.”

      “Okay,” Torrey said finally. “We’ll take it from here.” He got their contact numbers and leveled a look at Angela as he rose from the table. “Some advice. Tank Guzman is into some bad things. He’s been in trouble, petty stuff, but he’s not the kind of guy you want to get involved with. Best idea is to go back to Coronado and don’t have anything further to do with Tank Guzman.”

      “Do you think he’s dangerous?” she said.

      Torrey’s gaze drifted past her to the parking lot, where the blackened car still stood, waiting for the police to finish investigating.

      “Go home, Ms. Gallagher. Leave the investigating to the cops.”

      Torrey left.

      She realized Dan was staring at her.

      “You’re a private investigator?”

      She smiled at the insanity of it. “Hard to believe a navy chaplain has a side job?”

      He didn’t return the smile. “No, but it’s hard to believe that Guzman suddenly wanted to chat with a person he’s avoided all this time.” He pulled out his phone and typed something in.

      “When did you send your last letter to Guzman?”

      “It was an email. I sent it from my office account last month.”

      “How’d you find his email address?”

      She raised her chin. “I work at a PI firm, remember? We find things out.”

      “Uh-huh.” He read the tiny screen. “And when did your family decide to put up their website listing you as an associate of the firm like it says here?”

      She swallowed. “Last month.”

      “So when you sent the email, he searched your name and it led him to Pacific Coast Investigations.”

      “Sounds right. Lila knew he’d contacted an investigator.”

      Dan pursed his lips. “Guzman’s into some kind of trouble, or he wouldn’t have run away after the fire.”

      “He might have been worried since he’s got a past with the police, but he tried to help you rescue Lila—that has to show what he’s made of.”

      “I’m just making an observation. Out of the blue, he asks you to come here, and then there’s an explosion that nearly kills a woman and might have killed you if you were any closer,” he added. “He takes off instead of talking to the police. That all seems a little strange to me.”

      Though she didn’t say so, it seemed very strange to her, too. She felt suddenly bone weary and ready to drop. “I’m going to go to my hotel.”

      “I’ll walk you back to your car.”

      An explosion that nearly kills a woman and might have killed you...

      This time, she did not decline his offer.

      * * *

      Dan insisted on checking underneath Angela’s car before she started it. There was no real reason to, except that his nerves were nagging him.

      He gestured for her to roll down the window. “Where are you staying?”

      “Blue Tide Inn.”

      “Can I get your cell number? In case I hear any updates about Lila?” He was suddenly uneasy that she might decline.

      After a moment’s pause she told him the number and then groaned. “My cell is in my jacket. I think it might have wound up going to the hospital with Lila. My car keys would have, too, if I hadn’t put them in my back pocket.”

      “The hospital will keep it for you. I work there, or I did. I’m going to check on her tomorrow morning, anyway. I’ll ask about it.”

      He felt her looking closer at him. “Don’t you work there anymore?”

      He rubbed his neck. “On leave, like you. Taking some time off. Injured my hand.”

      “Oh. The way you got Lila out of the car, I wouldn’t have guessed it.”

      “A surgeon’s hands have to be better than good. The tiniest slip and someone’s dead.” The words came out harsher than he’d meant. Something in her gaze made him uncomfortable, as if she saw things under the surface, things he didn’t want anyone to see. “Anyway, I’ll get the phone back for you.”

      “No need. I’ll do it myself.”

      “Fair enough.”

      He stepped back so she could drive away.

      She turned to him. “Do you need a ride?”

      “No. My house is right up the beach.”

      She hesitated for another moment. “Dan, what I said before, about you being a coward. I’m sorry.”

      “No need to apologize.”

      “Yes, there is. You fought your way into a burning car to get Lila out. That’s courage if I ever saw it.”

      He noted how the moonlight embedded sparks of light in her hair. “Oh, I don’t know. For some folks, just facing another day requires more courage than I’ve got.”

      One more moment with her eyes locked onto his. Then she tucked her hair behind her ear and drove out of the parking lot. He watched until her car pulled out of sight. It was nearly nine o’clock. The crowds had dispersed, leaving only clusters of people sipping cups of coffee or walking down to the beach before heading home.

      He took off at a slow jog, only two miles to his cottage. The term amused him. It was a dilapidated wood-sided claptrap, a far cry from the sleek five-bedroom house he’d owned before he’d gone to Afghanistan. He’d had visions of fixing the cottage up, restoring each warped beam and leaking faucet, but he hadn’t and it didn’t make much difference. The only thing that really mattered was the view from the sagging wraparound porch. The thundering of the Pacific beat a soothing rhythm day and night, steady, reassuring.

      As he took the steps up to the porch, he said hello to Babs, the cat who had adopted him—or his porch, anyway. He spent a moment, as he always did, breathing in the grandeur of the ocean, which normally eased away all his troubles. God’s workmanship. Incredible. That was one thing about his time in the desert. Somehow it made all the colors of the world brighter, more vibrant, upon his return.

      Tonight,

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