Deadline (Sandra Brown)

into his den.
    She followed. “You’ve been gone for hours, Gary. You didn’t answer your cell phone.”
    “You’re keeping track? I can’t go out now without asking your permission?”
    “Don’t take that tone with me.”
    Headly knew better than anyone that Eva, who had the face and disposition of a saint most of the time, was no shrinking violet when riled.
    “Are you seeing another woman?”
    He gave her a look.
    “Well, it happens, you know. Men your age—”
    “My age? Now I’m a classification? What, sixty-five to death?”
    “Don’t change the subject.”
    She stared him down. He was the first to relent. “I didn’t tell you where I was going because I didn’t want an argument.”
    She sat down on the upholstered arm of the sofa and looked up at him expectantly, with a listening aspect. He muttered beneath his breath and turned toward the bar. “Want a drink?”
    “No. And you’re not having one until you tell me what’s going on. Where did you go?”
    He sat down heavily in his chair and rubbed his hand over his face. “I went to Dawson’s place.”
    “He’s not there.”
    “That’s why I went.” He waited for her to erupt and call him on invasion of privacy, but she surprised him.
    “I’m sure you had a good reason for going, knowing full well that he’s in Savannah.”
    “Is he?”
    “Isn’t he?”
    He sighed. “I don’t know. He’s supposed to be, but he’s lying to me, Eva. To us. To everybody, I think.”
    “About what?”
    “I’m not sure. Something. Everything. I talked to him earlier this afternoon, and he sounded okay, but the conversation was off. When I thought back on it, I realized that his answers didn’t quite fit the questions I asked.”
    “You felt he wasn’t being straight with you?”
    “I didn’t feel it, I know it.”
    “Why would he lie?”
    “It might have something to do with this.” From his pants pocket, he withdrew the brown plastic bottle and passed it to her. “Antianxiety drug.”
    She uncapped the bottle and shook out a few of the tablets. “I knew something was wrong. First he avoids us for two weeks. Then he shows up looking like a scarecrow. These pills explain it. He’s being treated for anxiety and doesn’t want us to know.”
    “I agree with everything you said except the last part. He admitted to me that he’s not sleeping. But he’s not seeing a doctor for the anxiety. Notice there’s no label on the bottle. He’s getting his ‘medication’ from some other source.”
    The implication distressed her as much as it had him. “Did you find anything else in his apartment that we should worry about?”
    “No. And I felt guilty for being there and pawing through his stuff.”
    “Only because you care. Seeing the horrors he saw in Afghanistan affected him more than he wants to admit, even to himself. Should we confront him about it, insist that he see a therapist?”
    “He’d just get defensive and deny that he needs one. You know how he is. Mr. Self-sufficient.”
    “Which, of course, is something you know nothing about.”
    He looked over at her and smiled sheepishly. “I’ve been a grump recently, haven’t I?”
    “No, you’ve been a regular son of a bitch. But I don’t know what I’d do without you.” She got up and moved to the arm of his chair, leaned over, and kissed the top of his head. “As for Dawson, he knows that we’re always here for him, and how much we care, and that anything we do or say, it’s for his own good.”
    “That’s the hell of it, Eva. That’s what’s eating at me. Knowing that he’s barely hanging on, instead of helping him through it, I sent him to look for Carl Wingert and Flora Stimel.”

Chapter 6
    T here’s a hot, hot, hot guy sitting at the bar who keeps staring at you.”
    Amelia turned her head in the direction Stef had indicated and met Dawson Scott’s steady gaze. Quickly, she came back around, only to notice that everyone else at her table had also turned to look.
    “Boys.” She patted the tabletop, bringing their attention back to her. “Finish your dinner, please. It’s getting late.”
    Stef fluffed her hair and said, “I’ll be right back.”
    Before Amelia could stop her, the younger woman slid from her chair and struck off in the direction of the bar.
    “Where’s she going, Mom?”
    “Can we go?”
    “No! Eat. Grant, your bottom in the chair, please. Hunter, turn around and finish your hamburger.”
    Whatever was going on at the bar had