She said, “Are you okay? You were really, really sick.” She paused, looking him

over. “Do you have cancer or something?” He didn’t answer. He was trying to

process how all this was going to spin out.

 

He looked at her neck. It was bruised from his fingers.

 

Just finish the job. She can’t be here. “Paul, are you okay?” “I’m fine. It’s

not cancer. Just some food poisoning.” “Well, thank God for that. Food poisoning

passes. Look, it’s late, we should find a place to stay.” “You can’t stay—” She

cut him off. “Just for tonight. Then you can drop me.” She added, “I did save

your life tonight. Isn’t that worth something?” * * * After he found another

motel and paid in cash they went to the room.

 

Rogers took off his jacket and Davis slipped off her shoes. “Your arm’s still

bleeding,” she said. “It’s nothing,” he said distractedly as he sat down in a

chair, his gaze flitting to the window. “Listening for more sirens?” she asked

as she perched on the bed, drawing her legs up under her.

 

He shot her a glance and then looked away. “If it makes you feel better I have a

rap sheet too,” said Davis. “Before you found the pot of gold with your adoptive

parents?” he said. “Something like that. How about you?” “I never found a pot of

gold.” “I mean the criminal part.” “I’ll sleep on the floor.” He rose and took

off his shoes.