I have no idea who or what a DB is or why they don’t wait, but business mode I understand. I pull out my card and hand it to her as I take hers, reading it over.

Zoey Walker, Coroner, Williamson County.

Well, that answers that question. Not a cop, but close.

Dealing with the county for accident coverage shouldn’t be too difficult either, thank goodness. They’re not some low-budget, liability-only single office that doesn’t want to pay and tries to weasel out of every red penny.

Mostly, I just enjoy that I know her name now. She seems like a Zoey, beautiful and a bit mischievous.

I take pictures of her car and mine with my phone, and she follows suit after silencing the new round of ding-ding-dings. She pops the hood of her car so I can take a picture of the front-end damage, then gets on her phone, I guess to call for a ride.

“That everything, Mr. Hale?” she asks when she’s done. “I need to get going.”

That she used my name at least lets me know she read my business card too, but I hate that she’s trying to get away from me so quickly. I want to hold her again, maybe feed her lunch, even though the gas station is the only thing nearby. And only to make sure she’s okay, of course. Fine, and also to see if she’ll go soft for me again with a hot dog in front of her.

Damn, I’m such an idiot.

As if anyone wants to eat pseudo-food that’s been whirling away on hot rollers for hours on end, getting stale and dry. The lazy fucks didn’t even come out to check on us after the accident, and we’ve been parked in their lot now for at least ten minutes. Still . . . “Blake. You can call me Blake.”

I see her mouth move, as though she’s silently saying my name. I want to taste it on her lips.

But then it’s like a pink haze clears and she robotically says, “I won’t be saying it at all. Call the county offices. They’ll handle the insurance. Goodbye, Mr. Hale.”

Our conversation clearly over, she goes to the back of her car and gets out a large black bag and what looks like a tackle box, obviously tools of her trade. A minute later, another dark sedan pulls up and she gets in, consciously avoiding my gaze as she pulls away from me.

I have the urge to chase after her, but that’s ridiculous. Even if I found her stunningly gorgeous and intriguing, with her running hot and then cold, I’m not superpowered.