“You want to know,” he said. “I want to know.”
“Why?” I asked. “Why on earth could you possibly care?”
He put his hand over mine. It was a simple act with a not so simple implication. My gulp repeated. The coffee gurgled in my belly. “You know why,” he replied. “Plus, a woman was murdered. No matter what my feelings, no matter yours, you can’t get around that fact. And if you go home now, I tend to doubt you’re ever going to forget it.”
I stared at my half-eaten donut, then into his eyes. Again my belly did a series of somersaults, all scoring perfect tens. “No one wants to help us, Dave. Why should this Scott Anderson be any different, even if we could find him?”
He laughed. “Found him already.”
I exhaled, sharply. “Figures. Let me guess, hospital database?”
He touched fingertip to
