“Maybe she had to put the seat back to get out of the vehicle?”

Eric gave that thought little time. “Anything’s possible, I guess, except the car’s on the driver’s side and it would be hard to reach the controls, but the passenger’s seat is forward,” he said. His gut told him the man was driving, at least a little drunk, got into it with the woman and during a fight that got physical, saw cars stopped right ahead, right in front of him, and swerved, going off the road. He hadn’t made it to the stop sticks. “Why don’t I just load that car while you think about it.”

He had a feeling he’d be taking it to an impound lot.

Six

Eric sent Laine a text at 6:30 a.m. to say he was back at the service station. And that he couldn’t stop thinking about her. He didn’t call because he didn’t want to wake her and didn’t ask if he could come over, even though the thought of curling around her warm body was enough to get him excited. Instead, he changed his clothes and prepared to work at least through the morning. He could call her later, maybe set up something for the evening. But waiting was hard. He wanted to get back into that soft bed. Now.

While he was still alone at the station, when no one could observe his silent struggle, he tried having a conversation with himself about exactly what kind of relationship he thought this might be, where it could go, what he should do with it.

Then he told himself to shut up. Who the hell cared? Everything he felt when he thought of her was good. God, they fit together perfectly. They had all the same moves. Only a stupid fool would look that gift horse in the mouth.

Besides, he had work to do. The police had impounded the SUV with one blown tire but Eric inherited the small truck the early morning fisherman was driving. The deputy gave the fisherman a lift to North Bend and Eric had to find four new tires. He couldn’t wait to hear what happened to the couple with the SUV. Though he believed he knew.

To his surprise, Justin showed up at seven. “What are you doing here?” Eric asked.

The kid kept his head down, which was typical Justin fashion. “My mom didn’t feel so good so she decided to skip church. I called Norm and told him I could handle the morning.”

“What’s up with your mom?” he asked.

“Just a bug,” Justin said. “No biggie. My brothers are home if she needs anything.”

This wasn’t the first time Justin’s mom had needed him because she wasn’t feeling well. “Seems like she’s sick a lot,” Eric said.

“She’s a little sickly, yeah, but she’s tough.”

“Is your dad around to help?” Eric asked.

Justin gave a short huff of laughter and averted his eyes. “They’ve been divorced since I was twelve. He doesn’t come around.”

Eric hadn’t known that. It hadn’t occurred to him to ask. “That puts a lot of responsibility on you and your brothers.”

“We’re up to it,” Justin said, moving away to get one of the work suits off a peg to put on over his blue shirt and pants. Eric was a real stickler about clean work clothes and Justin’s were always perfect—clean and pressed. His mother was consistent about that much. That was a good sign.

“Your mom work?” Eric asked.

Justin shook his head. “You turn on the pumps?”

“Yep,” he said. “If you can manage, I should find some tires for this truck. I’m going to put it up on the lift then drive to Bandon.”

Justin frowned. “What happened?”

Eric explained about the stop sticks and for the first time since he’d hired Justin, the kid almost laughed his ass off. He thought it was hilarious that the police screwed up and Eric began to wonder if Justin had a problem with cops. It wouldn’t surprise him; he was a surly kid. But he took the bonding moment to laugh with him.

“Will they get fired? The cops?” Justin asked.

“Nah. But their department will have to pay for the repairs. And I imagine they’ll have great drama about it. Could be some punishments involved. So, you ever see him? Your dad?”

Justin sobered and glared at Eric. “He left us. Why would I want to see him?”

“Gotcha,” Eric said. “Listen, I don’t have a lot of practice at this, but if there’s ever anything you need that you’d, ah, ordinarily ask a father for, you can always try me. I’m a helpful guy.”

“That’s okay,” he said.

“I have a seventeen-year-old daughter,” he reminded Justin.

“Right. I’m good.” And then he turned away to get busy cleaning up around the pumps and in the garage.

“Well, that was awkward,” Eric said quietly to himself.

Justin had worked for him for a couple of months and he was dependable, but ornery. Eric had suspected there were problems at home but he had no idea what kind. A single mother was a hint; they were probably under a lot of pressure. But it seemed like at least once a week his mother was sick. Maybe she was a drunk, Eric thought. Maybe she was chronically depressed. Whatever it was, it wasn’t doing positive things for Justin’s attitude.

Justin was a high school senior and one of the drawbacks to hiring high school students was having their buddies turning the station into a hangout, so Eric had warned Justin not to let that happen. Justin had said, “Don’t worry about that, man.” It was a nonissue. When high schoolers came by to get gas, they barely passed words with Justin. Maybe the kid was just real unpopular.

Eric thought he’d ask Mac. Mac knew everyone. Then he told himself that might piss off Justin. But Justin was already pissed off. Was it his business? The kid was seventeen and on the brink of adulthood. But that was right about the age Eric had decided he knew more than anyone else, dropped out of school, got a girl pregnant, threw in with a bad crowd and eventually ended up in prison. And he thought he might have looked and acted a lot like Justin.

He had no experience with this. So he drove to Bandon to get tires. He put them on, balanced them, checked the undercarriage, looked for damage, then he called Mac.

Eric drove the truck to the North Bend marina and Mac was waiting there in the parking lot to give him a lift home. He left the invoice in the glove box and left the key with a guy named Sammy at the gas pump on the pier.

“You were right about the SUV,” Mac said. “I should get you signed up for the police academy.”

“The background check might not go so well,” Eric said.

“It wasn’t even his wife. His wife thought he was on a business trip—he sells something. I think he said paint. Or maybe it was manure...”

“How can you get paint and manure mixed up?” Eric asked.

“It wasn’t my case. Not really. But I tipped off the state police. Well, I passed them off to my uncle-in-law, Joe, who took over. So, they were at some hideaway down the coast, got into a fight, headed back up the coast, still fighting. Not only did he hit her in the face, she broke right there and said she had bruises on her arms from him grabbing her and shaking her and shit. He passed a Breathalyzer, but barely. But the woman had had enough and sold him out. He went to jail on battery charges. I’d love to be a fly on the wall when he calls his wife for bail....” Then Mac laughed. Evilly.

It was midafternoon by the time Eric got back to the station. Manny was there, prepping a car for a paint job. An old car with salt damage from the ocean. Not a classic, but give it a few years. He had discussed the painting service and the only way they could make money, be competitive, was to use cheap paint, but Eric wouldn’t have a car he painted chip and peel two years out so he used good paint and made less money. His name was on it, after all.

Manny had one of his sons with him—twelve-year-old Robbie. He had four sons and two daughters ranging in age from sixteen to four. When he worked weekends he almost always had at least one kid with him. Manny had the most respectful, well-behaved kids Eric had ever known.

He talked with Manny for about ten minutes, told him about the tow, asked if his wife would bring him dinner. And Manny said, “If you’re going to get calls for tows, especially from the sheriff, you gotta get yourself a night man. Go get a nap, boss. See you tomorrow.”

Eric didn’t schedule himself to work nights, but he was there most of the time anyway. This weekend was a real anomaly—a date Friday night, a bigger date Saturday night, a lot of hopefulness for Sunday night. He walked down the hill the few short blocks to Laine’s house and knocked on her front door. She opened it and smiled at him. “Why don’t I go catch a nap and call you later. Maybe I can take you out for something to eat tonight?” he said.

She reached for his hand and pulled him inside. “You must be so tired,” she said.

His arms went around her automatically. “Someone kept me up most of the night.”

She pushed him away. “You said it was the sheriff’s deputy.” She laughed. “Come on,” she said, pulling on his hand. “Come in here. It’s a lazy Sunday.”

“For you, maybe.”

“Lazy Sundays really don’t feel the same when you don’t work all week.”

The fire was lit and she pushed him down on the couch in front of it. “I don’t know if I’ll be good company, Laine. I’m shot. But I could—”

“Lay back on those pillows,” she said. “This is the best couch in the world. When I was buying a couch I had very high standards—I lived alone and needed something that would embrace me. Do you want something to drink? A hot chocolate? A Coke? How about tea? Milk?”

He leaned back and the soft cushions seemed to wrap around him. “Wow.”

“That’s what I’m saying—perfect, right?” She sat down at the other end and lifted his feet one at a time, unlacing and removing his boots. “No shoes or boots allowed on my baby. Tell me about the tow and the cops. Tell me everything. From the beginning.”

He shook his head. “I was born in the house my father built....”

She gave him a whack. “Starting with the text.”

“I think Mac was throwing me a bone. They needed three wreckers, had massive tire damage and they were midway between Thunder Point and Bandon. My daughter’s stepdad is lending a hand, I bet.” He yawned. “But it was interesting because I was the guy with the side puller who could get an SUV up the hill and it turned out they weren’t a victim of the stop sticks, but were having a domestic in the car. We won’t get the exact details but she was bruised and upset, he was a little bit drunk and they didn’t hit the spikes. I bet he slugged her and swerved onto the shoulder, lost control and flipped the car. Why would a guy do that?” he asked, still bewildered. He yawned again. “The other two were innocent victims of stop sticks—one was a nurse’s aide and there was a fisherman. I got the SUV up for ’em, but then I took the fisherman’s truck in for tires and a check.”

“And the couple?”

She was rubbing his feet. His toes curled inside his white socks. He smiled. “You’re like a fantasy woman, you know.”

“Yes, I know. And the couple?”

“I think they’re in trouble. Mac had their vehicle impounded. And he hopes the guy has to call his wife for a ride home from jail.”

“They weren’t married?” she asked. “He was slugging his mistress?”

“Or maybe not even a mistress. Maybe not a whole lot more than a date.”

“What an idiot. Didn’t he realize she didn’t have that much to lose? I mean, if she wasn’t the wife, if she wasn’t invested, if he abused her or misled her, she’d flip on him in a second. She wasn’t going to jail. Stupid ass. Talk about job security—most bad guys are just too dumb for words.”

Eric smiled. Spoken like a true cop. And he yawned. She’d done a very good job on this couch purchase. And he heard her talking about dividing couples to question them about what really happened.... He loved the sound of her voice, so he closed his eyes for just a second.