Davis ordered half the menu and ate it all. Rogers could only manage coffee.

“You still have food poisoning?” she asked, a forkful of scrambled eggs poised

in front of her mouth.

 

He nodded and went back to his thoughts.

 

Quentin might be a better track to Jericho than Davis. He apparently didn’t

bother locking up the house on the beach. Rogers could get in and make him do

what needed doing. And what could he really do with Davis? Go to the Ballard

mansion and hold her hostage until Jericho walked out? That wasn’t going to

happen. He needed subtlety here. Problem was, he was engineered for brute

action. He started counting in his head again.

 

Jericho is one smart lady. She’s playing chess, you can’t play checkers. Brains,

not muscle, will get you there.

 

Yes, Quentin over Davis made a lot of sense. He would use him to get to Jericho.

 

He glanced up at Davis as she bit into a piece of toast. And the truth was—he

couldn’t quite believe he was actually admitting this to himself—he didn’t want

to do anything to get Davis hurt. It was an astonishing revelation for him,

because Rogers had long, long ago ceased caring about anyone.

 

But now? “You need a ride home?” he asked.