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I laughed shakily. Not because I believed him. But Dax could always make me laugh.

Dax wasn’t laughing though. He looked troubled. “He really did care for you, Caz.”

“Not enough. Clearly.”

Dax seemed to think it over. “What do you think he should have done? Just out of curiosity. Made a run for the border with you? The Jacksons have been chasing bad guys as long as the Bredahls have been baking cookies. You know that. Cop is in his DNA.”

“He’s not a very good one if he thinks I could commit murder.”

“I didn’t say he was a good one. Clearly, he’s a fuckingterribleone.”

I gave another of those wobbly laughs.

Dax said earnestly, “I know you hate him. Or think you do. I know you don’t want to hear it. I guess I’d feel the same. But from what I saw, he’s been in hell every day since you were arrested—and probably worse hell since he found out you were innocent.”

“Sure. I hope so.”

The waitress returned with the second round of cocktails and Dax requested menus. As I watched him, I realized Dax had done a lot of growing up while I’d been away. He seemed older, tougher, possibly wiser. At least about drinking on an empty stomach.

“We don’t need to talk about me anymore,” I said after the menus were delivered. “What’s new with you?”

“Same old, same old,” he said vaguely.

That described the menu, for sure, but it was hard to believe Dax had nothing to report after eleven months.

“Are you still working at MPH Motors?”

“Yeah.”

I put my menu down. “Are you now in the Secret Intelligence Division or can you share a few details?”

He laughed, made a face. “I got promoted to sales manager two months ago.”

“That’s great!” Which it was, and I was glad for Dax, but I felt a tiny pang at yet another reminder that life had gone on for him, for everyone but me. I had basically spent eleven months in suspended animation. “Congratulations.”

He nodded.

“Are you seeing anyone?”

His gaze dropped. “No.”

“No?”

Dax was always,alwaysseeing several someones. “No one? Nobody?”

He gave a brief shake of his head.

“There must be one or two girls in this town you haven’t dated yet.”

“I’m taking a break,” he said grimly.

“That reporter I talked to today was a cutie. Probably too smart for you, but…” I realized he wasn’t smiling, wasn’t amused, and I let it go. “What else is new? New car?”

He let out a breath, grinned. “Yes.”

“I figured.”

He said seriously, “Speaking of which, you should think about trading in that Range Rover of yours. Those babies depreciate fast. Like fifty-six-percent within five years. You’ve had it for six.”