Running on Empty

Chapter 5

“Is it familiar?” Detective Thompson asked.

“I think so. I don’t even know how I know it,” Jane said. “I just…feel it.”

“We’ll try retracing your path through the store. While we’re here, I’m going to pick up a few things.” He grabbed a cart and pointed it in the direction of the grocery department, swerving to avoid a pack of unruly teenagers and a shell-shocked mother with three rowdy children. Being a Saturday afternoon, the store was loud and bustling with activity.

They started in the produce section where he extracted a crumpled list from his jacket pocket. She walked alongside him while he shopped, taking in her surroundings, willing herself to remember. It felt so close, like she could brush it with her fingertips, yet too far to get a grasp on. Every time she reached further, strained to touch it, it slipped further away from her. She was thinking so forcefully her head began to throb.

He seemed to pick up on her distress. “Relax. Try to let it come naturally.”

She felt like screaming and stamping her feet. She didn’t want to relax. She wanted this to be over with. She wanted to remember now. “I wish I could put into words how frustrating this is. It’s like hearing a melody in your head, and knowing there are words to go along with it, but you just can’t remember what they are.”

“When that happens to me, I try to think about something else, and usually the words come to me when I least expect it.”

There was a definite logic to that. Maybe she was trying too hard. She’d thought of nothing else since waking in the hospital that morning.

“So tell me about yourself, Detective.” At his curious glance, she added, “If we talk about you for a while, maybe I’ll stop thinking about me. Right?”

“Okay.” He tossed a bag of baby carrots in the cart. “What do you want to know?”

“What do you want to tell me?”

He shrugged. “Not much to tell, really. I’m not married. I live alone. I love my job. That’s about it.”

“Do you have family?”

“My mom and my sister.” He consulted the list and headed for a bin of broccoli.

“Are you close to them?”

“Since my dad died I’ve kind of taken over as the head of the family. When my mom had back surgery a few weeks ago, Lisa moved in with her. I do most of the running around.”

“That must put a damper on your social life.”

He barked out a rueful laugh. “What social life?”

“That doesn’t bother your girlfriend?”

“Might if I had one.”

No girlfriend? How could a man as sweet and attractive as Detective Thompson not have one? Unless girls weren’t his thing.

Jane gave him a sideways glance, watched him walk—the casual, sturdy swagger. She would bet her last dollar he was one hundred percent heterosexual male. The other obvious explanation would be a prior failed relationship.

“Ever been married?” she asked.

There was a slight pause before he said, “Almost.”

His total blank expression made her realize how hard he was trying not to look wounded.

Way to go, Jane. Any other painful past experiences you’d like to dredge up? Maybe a favorite family pet he’d had to euthanize? “I’m sorry, that was insensitive of me.”

“It’s okay, it was a long time ago. I’m married to my work now.”

“Sounds lonely.”

They fell silent. She walked beside him, watching in her peripheral vision as he dropped items in his cart. It didn’t escape her attention the appraising looks he attracted from women. Appraising being a major under-statement. Jaws dropped and tongues lolled. Not that she didn’t relate. He was ridiculously easy on the eyes.

The unshaven chin, slightly mussed hair and faded blue jeans gave him a roguish edge, like that irresistible bad boy mothers forbade their daughters to date, yet everything else about him screamed dependable and safe. It was probably the intense yet patient way he looked at a person, until they felt compelled to confess their most horrific sins.

Married to his work? It was a damn shame to waste all of that raw sex appeal.

“You’re awfully quiet,” he said. “Thinking about your past?”

“Actually, no. I was thinking about sex appeal.”

One eyebrow lifted. “Dare I ask whose?”

“Yours.”

“I have sex appeal?”

She rolled her eyes. “You can’t tell me you don’t notice the way women look at you. On a scale of one to ten, you’re about an eleven on the studmuffin-ometer.”

“Studmuffin-ometer?” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Is this like the butt thing?”

“I’ll bet you had a lot of girlfriends in high school.”

He turned down the laundry aisle, choosing a box of powdered detergent and a bottle of fabric softener. “Why is that?”

“You look trustworthy. Women like a guy who makes them feel safe.”

She had his undivided attention now. He stopped walking and turned to her. “I’m safe?”

She propped her hands on her hips, giving him a thorough once-over. “I think it’s the big, brown puppy-dog eyes. And you have good manners. I’ll bet you always ask permission before you kiss a woman.”

He shook his head. “Are you always this brutally honest?”

“I don’t know. Does it bother you?”

“No.” He started down the aisle. “Truthfully, it’s refreshing for a change. Women usually play games.”

“Sounds like you’ve been hanging around with the wrong women.”

“Yeah, it’s a gift. I’m like a magnet.”

“Besides, what do I have to gain by playing games? I figure, if I’m totally honest with you, maybe you’ll show me the same courtesy.”