My mouth dropped open.
I snapped it shut and focused on a Coors beer sign with the intent of memorising it.
He leaned forward and I looked at him.
“Relax, Jet, I’m not gonna bite you.”
Eek.
The dinner was hard enough, I didn’t need visions of Hank biting me in my head.
“I have a problem,” I blurted out, deciding to be a snitch rather than spending any more time thinking of Hank’s straight, white teeth sinking into my flesh.
“You got a lot of problems,” he told me.
I gave him a glare. I wasn’t ful y committed to it because I didn’t know him very well but it was a glare al the same.
“Yeah,” he muttered, his eyes going a funny kind of flirty-lazy while he looked at me, “that works too.” Sweet Jesus.
I focused on my goal.
“I need to talk about my problem.”
He sat back again. “Fire away.”
“You’re a cop,” I told him.
His lips twitched and he nodded.
“Wel , say someone, I’m not saying who but someone kinda knows something bad is going to happen. Something real y bad. Then, say that bad thing happens. Wil that someone be in trouble if she… or he… didn’t report it to the cops, like, right away?”
His eyes changed again, he wasn’t playing at flirting anymore, he was watching me closely.
“How bad is this something?”
“Bad,” I said.
“Steal a candy bar bad or worse?”
“Worse, a lot worse.”
Then I leaned across the table and motioned to him to do the same. He did and when he was a couple inches away I whispered, “Murder.”
Then I sat back.
There, I did it.
Whew. That was a load off my mind.
Hank stayed where he was, stony-faced and serious and he crooked a finger at me.
Uh-oh.
The load settled right back on my mind.
I didn’t want to but I leaned forward again.
“Talk to me,” he demanded.