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“How am I in the wrong?” Archie protested. “How is this a problem for the police chief? I’m not drunk. I didn’t pass out. I got woozy because I haven’t eaten and got some...some bad news. More bad news.”

“And?”

“And I don’t like being treated like a suspect when you know goddamned well I didn’t have anything to do with John’s murder.”

“And?” Beau persisted in that infuriating tone.

Archie had earned a rep for never losing his cool. That was because his colleagues had never seen him trying to deal with Beau Langham. For the second—third?—time in one day his composure evaporated in a blaze of long repressed rage and injury. “And what? I don’t understand what’s going on with you, Beau. You ended things. You dumped me. Remember? In no uncertain fucking terms. You ended—”

Beau moved to speak, and Archie raised his voice, overriding him, “And don’t tell me that what happened seven years ago isn’t relevant because we both know that’s bullshit. I’m not stupid. You’re still holding some grudge against me even though you got every goddamned thing you wanted and I got—”

Alarmingly, Archie’s voice cracked, and thank God for it because he was spared saying something truly embarrassing, but also something not true, because he had also gotten much of what he’d wanted.

“No, you’re not stupid,” Beau said calmly. “But you’re as unaware as ever.”

“Unaware?”

“You prefer self-absorbed?”

Archie stuttered, “S-s-self-absorbed?”

“Jesus Christ, Crane. Do you really not remember everything that happened back then?”

“What are you talking about? You dumped me.” He was starting to feel like a broken record, like he was stuck in a time loop.

“Yes.”

Archie raised his hands in bewilderment.

Beau let out a sound of sheer exasperation. “This is why we need to talk.”

He opened his door and got out.

Now? Really? But okay. Whatever. Far be it from Archie to deny Beau the pleasure of yet again expressing his feelings.

The summer night was cool and sweet as he opened his door and climbed out. His heart was banging around his ribs in that fight or flight adrenaline rush. He did not want this; he did not have the energy or anger necessary to take Beau on again. But sometimes the fight came to you.

The winding cobblestone path through the trees was deeply shadowed, dew-beaded cobwebs glimmered in the soft glow of lantern-shaped garden lights. This time, Beau led the way, striding a few steps ahead on the damp walk.

He reached the hotel entrance, waiting silently for Archie to join him. Archie used his keycard. Beau opened the door and they went inside the silent and empty lobby.

Scarlett Langham stood at the front desk, and she did a doubletake when her brother walked in with Archie.

“Hey, is the kitchen still open?” Beau called.

“No, the kitchen isn’t open. Are you serious?”

“Can you order Special Agent Crane something to eat?”

“From where? It’s after eleven.”

“Scarlett.”

Scarlett shook her dark hair back impatiently. “Yes, Chief. I’ll order the special agent something to eat from who knows where.”

Special agent.

For the love of God. Now she was doing it, too.