The Witness

be the math nerd in him. Were you a math nerd?”
    At one time, she remembered, she was an everything nerd. Perhaps she still was. “I enjoy math. Its logic.”
    “I coulda figured.” He angled back to her, drank some wine. “I like your place. My mother wants your kitchen.”
    “You should get her a dog.”
    “What?”
    “She says she isn’t ready, but it was clear by the way she behaved and reacted to Bert she is. She misses having a dog in her life. She—I’m sorry.” Color rose up to her cheeks. “It’s not my place.”
    “We don’t stand on place so much around here. She loved that dog. We all did. It just about flattened us when we had to have him put down.”
    He looked down at Bert, resisted—because he liked having his hand—reaching out to pet the dog. “You really think she’s ready to start with another?”
    “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
    “You did. I’m asking your opinion.”
    “Then yes. It seemed to me she felt it would be disloyal if she herself got another dog. But a gift, from one of her children. That’s different, isn’t it?”
    “It is. Thanks. She liked you, my mother.”
    “I liked her. You should take the rest of the pie, and her dish.” Abigail rose to cover the remaining pie.
    “Here’s your hat; what’s your hurry?”
    “You weren’t wearing a hat.”
    “It’s an expression. Like, say, don’t let the door hit you in the ass on your way out.”
    “Oh. Then yes, you have to go. I need to feed my dog, and I have work waiting. Please tell your mother I enjoyed the pie.”
    “I will.” He rose, picked up the dish.
    “And thank you for the wine. I’ll let you out.”
    At the front door he waited for her to unlock, turn off the alarm. Then he set the pie on the little table.
    “Tell your dog to relax.”
    “Why?”
    “Because I want to put my hands on you, and I’m going to need them to drive after I do. I don’t want him biting one off at the wrist.”
    “I don’t like to be touched.”
    “You like sex. A kiss is somewhere between being touched and having sex. Aren’t you curious, Abigail?”
    “A little.” She studied his face in that X-ray manner, then looked to the dog.
“Ami,”
she said, laying a hand lightly on Brooks’s arm. “
Ami,
Bert.”
    Still, she stiffened when Brooks took her hand—her gun hand.
    “Ami,”
he murmured. “That one stuck with me. So let’s be friendly.”
    He laid his other hand on her cheek, eased his way in. And she watched him. That ready, steady look in her eye just hit some chord in him. He kept it light, maybe a little over the friendly line, but light and soft. Lips meeting, eyes locked.
    He pressed, just a bit more, body to body, until her hand came to his shoulder. Until it slid around to the back of his neck, up into his hair. Until her tongue teased his, and those watchful eyes went a deeper green.
    As he stepped back, he released her hand. With a shake of his head, he picked up the pie. “You know I’m going to have to come back.”
    “It’s a mistake.”
    “For who?”
    “For both of us.”
    “Different points of view, remember.” He leaned in, quick—and this time friendly—touched his lips to hers. “I’ll be coming back. See you, Bert,” he added as he walked out and to his car.
    Abigail closed the door, locked it before she heard his engine turn over. She let out a huff of breath, looked down at the dog.
    “It’s a mistake,” she repeated.

10
     
    B ROOKS SPENT MOST OF HIS DAY PUTTING RIGHTEOUS FEAR in a trio of preadolescent shoplifters, dealing with a traffic accident—which primarily involved preventing the two drivers from coming to blows—handling the resulting paperwork, and listening to Sid Firehawk whine when Brooks finally cited him for the blown-out muffler.
    To reward himself, he opted to make a quick run to the bakery for some fancy coffee and a snickerdoodle, but Alma stuck her head in his office. Rainbow peace signs the size of babies’ fists dangled from her ears.
    “Grover called in. There’s a dispute over at Ozark Art.”
    “What kind of dispute?”
    “He just said things were getting a little hot, and asked for you to go by.”
    “All right. I’ll walk over. I could stop at the bakery on the way back if you want anything.”
    “Get away from me, Satan.”
    “Just saying.” Brooks got up from his desk, grabbed his jacket.
    “If a chocolate macadamia cookie and a skinny latte found their way onto my desk, it wouldn’t be my