"Why?" It seemed a strange career move for a man who was sick of seeing death.

He shook his head. "I don't know."

"Yes, you do."

He paused. "I guess I wanted it to matter. Each person. Every time. For me, it's like if one person doesn't matter, then there's no point."

She looked down and brushed her thumb over his palm. He trusted her, despite what he'd said before. He trusted her, or he wouldn't be telling her all this. Now it was her turn to trust him, too. But that panic was still there, nibbling at her.

"Let's get some sleep." He kissed her head. "I've got ten hours of driving tomorrow."

They slid down under the sheets, and he rolled her against him.

"Why don't you let me drive?" she asked again.

He hitched her thigh up over his belly and gave a contented sigh. "Not a chance."

Nathan heard the arguing as he neared Room 822 and recognized Alex's voice, clear as a bell, above the nurse's.

"This is absurd," she said. "You can't prohibit access. That's the point of an open network."

"I got doctor's orders. You're not allowed to use that in here. You're supposed to be resting."

Nathan stood in the doorway and watched Alex-who looked like she'd been hit by a baseball bat-glower at the nurse who was unplugging her computer cord. He cleared his throat, and she looked up.

"Thank God! I've been trying you all morning. Why'd you turn off your cell?"

"I was in a deposition," he said.

The nurse bustled past and shot him a glare. Evidently she'd given up trying to separate Alex from her laptop.

Nathan stepped toward the bed and rested his hand on the metal rail. She looked so frail underneath that hospital gown, and that purple goose egg on the side of her face made him want to throttle someone.

Or at least throw a few people in jail.

Her fingers flew over the keyboard as she continued working. She had files fanned out beside her, and a cell phone, and she seemed to have set up shop for the morning.

"Aren't you being discharged today?" He secretly hoped not, or at least not without some powerful meds.

She glanced up from whatever she was doing. "Noon, supposedly. That's if I don't get kicked out first by Nurse Ratched. I swear to God, that woman-"

"What'd you find out?" he interrupted.

She set her computer aside, finally. "I had a friend of mine run down that skip trace."

Nathan's lip twitched with amusement. "You're telling me you subbed out my job from your hospital bed?"

"You got a problem with that?"

"Nope."

"Good." She sighed. "But you're not going to like what he found."

Will felt itchy.

He sat with his back to the wall, scanning the greasy-spoon diner for the source of the threat. He scrutinized every dough-bellied trucker and leathery ranch hand who walked into the place, but he couldn't pinpoint it.

Still, something was off. His senses had been twitching since the moment they'd stepped out of their room at the Desert Dreams Motel. Courtney had wanted breakfast immediately, but Will had insisted they get on the road. He couldn't explain the gut-deep feeling that they needed to leave town, but he'd followed it. That same instinct had helped him dodge a bullet a time or two over the years.

"You gonna eat that?"

He glanced at Courtney, who sat directly across from him in the red vinyl booth. She was showered and rested and looking at his bacon with lust in her eyes.

They'd been here twenty minutes, and already she'd cleaned her plate. His gaze skimmed over her sinewy arms, left bare in that yoga getup. She seemed thinner now than she had before. Stronger, too.

He forked up some huevos rancheros. "What, they didn't have food in Silver Creek?"

"Waitressing killed my appetite." She nodded at his plate. "Come on. Don't you wanna share?"

He leaned back and draped an arm over the booth. "Depends."

"On what?"

"On what you're offering."

She crossed her arms. "Are you bartering with bacon?"

"Yep."

"You're flirting."

"Yep."

She gave him that half smile he loved. "In that case, you can have whatever you like."

He scooped up all three strips and dumped them on her plate as the waitress stopped by with their bill. He picked it up.

"Whoa." She chomped right into the bacon. "Flirting and paying? Is this a date?"

"This is breakfast." Her left hand was sitting beside her plate, and he covered it with his. "But I would like to take you out on a date soon."

She stopped chewing and gazed down at their hands. She swallowed. He watched her reaction closely, because he'd guessed it would be this way. They'd spent the night together naked-fine, no problem. But his wanting to hold her hand and take her out made her nervous.

"Okay," she said.

"Okay."

They looked at each other for a moment, and then he slid his cell phone across the table toward her. "You should probably call your sister."

"Why?" she asked, seeming relieved by the change of subject.

"Just to check in."

"She's in Florida," Courtney said. "I doubt she wants to hear from me on her honeymoon."

"I bet she would. She's been worried about you."

"When did you talk to her last?"

"At her wedding."

She gaped at him. "You went to the wedding?"

"I sort of dropped in."

"How was it? How did she look?"

He heard the envy in her voice. "It was fine."

"But how did she look? What was her hair like?"

He frowned. "I don't know."

"You saw her, didn't you? Was it in an updo? A chignon? God, don't tell me she had a beehive!"

"I have no idea what you just said."

She rolled her eyes.

"She looked pretty," he offered. "Her dress was nice."

"I was supposed to do her hair. She probably did it herself, probably one of her damn French braids."

"So you want to call her or not?"

She gnawed on the bacon. "Not yet. She'll just give me the third degree. I'll wait until we get home."

Home. He liked hearing the word from her.

"Okay, then try Jordan again," he said. "We need her to try to log in and find out about your e-mail account at Bella."

She picked up another strip of bacon. "You know, I've been thinking about David."

Will tensed.

"He wasn't very discreet," she said. "He liked to brag about stuff. I wouldn't be surprised if other people knew about our affair, maybe even his wife."

"Yeah. And?"

"So, what if he lost interest in Eve after the trial ended, and what if, out of spite, she threatened to report his misconduct to a judge or someone? The verdict could get overturned."

"Blackmail," Will said. "I've been thinking along those same lines. That might make someone who got a piece of that award want to get rid of Alvin and anything else that could put their money at risk."

"Like me," she said. "Maybe he even told someone I'd found those e-mails."

"Pembry was a problem, too, especially when he started stopping by the station, leaving notes for cops. His little messages probably got him killed."

The words came out harsher than he'd intended, and Courtney looked worried.

She tugged her hand away from his and downed her last sip of orange juice. "I'll try Jordan. She's probably at work by now."

"Good idea," Will said, pulling an envelope from his back pocket.

"Hey! That's my money!"

He fished out a twenty from the stash he'd found on her bureau back at the inn. "Just keeping it safe till we get to Austin."

"That's stealing!" She made a grab for the envelope, but he jerked it away, out of her reach.

"Thanks for breakfast, C.J." He winked. "Now make that phone call."

She thrust her chin out, but didn't say anything. Then she picked up the phone and dialed. "You have definite trust issues."

He lifted an eyebrow and slipped the money back in his pocket.

"Jordan? Hi, it's me."

Will heard the squeal from across the table.

"Yeah, I know.... Uh-huh...It's been a trip."

The diner was noisy with the breakfast crowd, and Courtney hunched over the phone, straining to listen. "Huh? I can't hear you...." She looked up at Will and jerked her head toward the back of the restaurant. "Restroom," she mouthed and got up. She took her purse with her, but not her backpack, and he knew she wouldn't get far. Not without money.

You have definite trust issues.

He trusted her. Mostly. But he was practical, too. Courtney was the most impulsive woman he'd ever known. If she got spooked, she might make a run for it, and he didn't intend to give her the chance.

Will polished off the rest of his eggs and drained his coffee. He checked his watch. Maybe he should call Devereaux and get an update. If the man was any kind of detective-which he was-he would have figured out by now that Will's sick day wasn't a sick day at all, but a quest to find Courtney. Will needed to tell him where things stood and see if any progress had been made on the investigation since yesterday.

Courtney had his phone, though. He drummed his fingers on the table and waited.

A man slid out of a booth up front and tucked a newspaper under his arm. He wore jeans, a flannel shirt, and a cap-like almost every other man in here-but something didn't fit.

Will watched him through the window as he crossed the parking lot. Something about the guy bugged him, and he couldn't make the thought go anywhere.

Where was Courtney?

He glanced impatiently over his shoulder to the restrooms sign at the back of the diner. She'd been gone too long. Irritated at his own paranoia, he patted his pocket and felt the reassuring bulge of his key. Maybe she was in there putting on makeup or something.