“You really don’t do idle at all well,” Teague said, repeating Hoyt’s words from twenty minutes ago.
The moment they walked into Hoyt’s house, the detective flicked on the TV and began to walk toward the kitchen, announcing he was hungry. The fact that he had to grab the back of the sofa for a moment to steady himself didn’t seem to deter him.
“You will sit. Now.” Teague ordered, pointing to the sofa. “Then I’ll go upstairs and find you something to wear so I can have my jacket back. I’d put you to bed, but I don’t think you’ve got enough strength to navigate the stairs right now. Where are the meds the doctor gave you?”
Hoyt collapsed on the sofa, muttering about bossy men while he dug the pills containers out of the jacket pocket. Teague took them, checking when Hoyt was supposed to t
