CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Harley sipped the last of her spiced iced tea and stared out the cafe window, watching the sky burn like a wildfire as the sun slipped behind the trees. Across from her, Callaway picked the last few crumbs from a tray of nachos, his Stetson a lonely lookout perched on the corner of the table.
“So,” Harley said, keeping her gaze out the window, “you want to tell me what happened back there?”
Callaway plucked a napkin from the dispenser, rubbed his hands, and set the balled napkin on his plate. “You never let things go, do you? You’re like a dog with a bone.”
“And you’re a loose cannon. It’s not like you, having an outburst like that. What would have happened if someone had caught it on camera?”
“Nobody did.”
“And you’re lucky they didn’t,” she said. “That’s the sort o
