A beat passed. Beth fought the urge and leaned against the door for a second before moving further into the room, still keeping her distance out of habit. “No. I know the way,” she answered.
“Could’ve fooled me.”
She ignored that. “How are you?”
Jack snorted. “How do I look?”
Like a man who refused to die out of spite? Of course, Beth didn’t say that out loud. And it had nothing to do with sparing his feelings. No. This was all about self-preservation. “Alive.”
“Barely,” he muttered, shifting in his chair. “But I suppose that doesn’t matter much to you. I bet you were hoping to find me dead in my bed. That would make you happy, wouldn’t it?”
There it was. Right on time. The man wore manipulation like an inherited disease. Needing to move, Beth walked past him into the small kitchen a
