Page 30 of Jack
“So, what is that—professional nice guy?”
He glanced over at her then, something of darkness in his eyes, and of course it only ignited the investigative journalist inside her.
Something . . .
“Depends. Sometimes yes, sometimes I get sued.”
Hello, darkness, my old friend.“Sued?”
He shook his head. “Hazard of the trade. Which is why I don’t do contracts. I can’t let people down if they don’t depend on me.”
“Interesting way to live.”
“Truth.” He had turned down the road to the inn. “I don’t make promises. And I don’t have any power, really. I carry a gun—I have a concealed carry for Florida, which is good in thirty-seven states but not Minnesota, so it stays in the lockbox in the trunk. And I’m not bonded or licensed and?—”
“But you’re a lawyer.”
“Nope.”
Right.He’d failed the bar, according to Boo. Harper had that information tucked away somewhere in the Never Open file on All Things Jack.
“So, just a vagabond. A finder of lost things. A sometimes nice guy, sometimes troublemaker,” she said. “Got it.”
And there it was, a rare smile.
“Why are you getting sued?”
His smile vanished. “Someone got hurt.”
He went silent then, and she opened up another file in her brain called Things I Shouldn’t Care About.
“In Florida?”
He gave her a glance. “How do you know I live in Florida?”
“Plates on the Geo. And you mentioned you had a concealed carry permit from Florida.”
The sides of his mouth lifted again. “Right. And yes.”
“You mostly work in Florida?”
“I work where there’s a missing person. I spend a lot of time in Arizona, New Mexico, Oklahoma, Missouri, and Louisiana. But I like Florida.”
“Too much snow?” She gestured to the dark, frozen banks lining the road.
He drew in a breath. “Too cold, yes.”
Interesting, and it only brought up, well, The Fight.
The one that’d caused Boo to join the reality-television survival show. And then, after the disastrous social media, to flee to Alaska. Maybe it had also caused Jack to flee.
“I saw you and Boo tonight, embracing. So . . .” She glanced at him. “You two okay?”
“I hope so,” he said softly, and it found all her unguarded places. The guy actually sounded . . . humble. Sorry.
He glanced at her. Maybe he knew that of course Boo had turned to her best friend with the sordid details. “I was out of line. It was right about the time Steinbeck got wounded, and then Brontë came home from the military after being with the Marines, and I just saw her getting hurt too. So I opened my big mouth and said something that I thought would shut her down.”
“Yeah, not so much.”