No more Paul Rogers.

 

It will be the end of me.

 

When the hand touched his shoulder he whirled and his fingers seized around the

person’s neck.

 

It was Davis.

 

Rogers had rarely been more stunned in his life. Then he realized he was

squeezing her neck, because her eyes were beginning to bulge.

 

He quickly let go and she collapsed, breathing hard. “Where the hell did you

come from?” he barked.

 

She couldn’t answer until she had regained her breath. Then she sat on her

haunches in the space between the bucket seats and the back of the van. “I knew

you weren’t going to hang around for the cops. And I knew your van. So I came

out and climbed into the back and hid there before you left the bar.” He looked

at her warily. “Why?” he asked. “Why did I know you weren’t waiting around for

the cops? I saw your face when the sirens started up. I saw the arteries in your

neck swell as they got closer and closer.” “Why are you in the back of my van?”

“Because I like you. And I’m trying to figure you out.” “You need to get out of

here.” “Why? Because I might get in trouble hanging out with you?” He started to

say something, but it wouldn’t come out.