Chapter Three

Waking up in the morning was always painful for Bill. He was nocturnal by nature , a creature of the dim. But waking up with a naked Shay sitting on his chest in a bed roughly the size of Delaware? That helped. A lot.

He blinked against the flicker of a 42-inch TV across the room, trying to orient himself. Being a travel nurse came with its drawbacks, and top of that list was playing "Where the Hell Am I?" every time he opened his eyes. It usually took a solid sixty seconds to remember what city he was in. But not today. Not with Shay grinning down at him like she'd just won something.

"Jesus, Shay," he groaned, shielding his eyes from both her smile and the TV glow. "What is it with women in this town leaving the TV on all night?"

She leaned in with a toothbrush clamped between her teeth. "Get up. I have to go to work. And how many women are we talking about?"

"All in the past, baby." He yawned. "Why can’t you work nights like a normal person?"

She gave him the look , that look , and padded back into the bathroom.

Bill sighed and sat up, one foot searching the floor for his pants. “Friggin’ sun isn’t even all the way up yet.”

From the bathroom came her muffled voice through the sound of running water: “Hey, did you hear about state inspecting the hospital?”

“No,” he called back. “Why? Who cares? Yet another reason to work nights , all the management idiots turn into pumpkins after dark.”

“We got a heads-up in a staff meeting Monday,” she said. “They think it’s just the ER. I thought you might know more.”

“Nope. Haven’t been in there for a week. I’m meeting Troy for breakfast, though , maybe he’s heard something.”

He walked into the bathroom to say goodbye, but mostly to get another look at her. That smile. That mouth. She didn’t even have to try.

“You look incredible,” he muttered, then kissed her and peeled himself away.

“Let me know what you find out about state,” she said. “Feels like a big deal.”

“Sure, sure,” he mumbled on his way out. “I’m sure it’s all absolutely riveting.”

By the time she said anything else, he was already halfway down the stairs, the water from the sink covering whatever reply she might’ve offered.

He just hoped the Jeep was in the garage. It hadn’t been in the driveway last night. The universe smiled , there it was. He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge by the garage door and paused. Four-car garage. Ridiculous. And it was deep , custom build, no doubt. Shay had said that when they first pulled in, but standing there now, it looked like you could host a wedding reception in here.

Backing the Wrangler out, Bill tossed the garage clicker onto the seat of the Corvette he forgot to lock last night. Vegas problems.

He took Cheyenne down to Buffalo at a crawl. The Rubicon felt sluggish compared to the twitchy Vette, but once you got off-road, nothing beat the Wrangler. Nothing. Still, the slow roll annoyed him.

He pulled into the parking lot of the Roadrunner, sitting on the corner of Buffalo and Washington, wondering , as he always did , if the building was actually old or just pretending. That tired red metal siding tried so hard to look vintage it practically creaked.

Inside, it was early. Just two people sat at the bar, hypnotized by the blue glow of the video poker machines embedded in front of them. That was one of the things he liked about this place , well-lit, low volume, no pretensions.

Bill took a seat, fed a $20 into the nearest machine, and waved the bartender over.

“White Russian,” he said. It didn’t count as drinking in the morning if you’d only slept two hours. That was more like a nightcap. And besides, coffee in a bar? Always garbage.