Jeff nods, agreeing with me. “Your ankle really okay?”

“Yeah, it wasn’t bad. Propped it up with a little ice for the night and it was good as new in the morning.”

I leave out the part about Blake carrying me to my bedroom. One, it’s none of Jeff’s business, and two, if he hasn’t already heard, I’m not spreading gossip about myself.

“Good.” Jeff turns to go, easily giving me his back, and I stop him.

“Hey, Jeff, I got the repeat toxicology report on Richard Horne. Was gonna send it up to you, but here you are.” I give him a wry look. “Here’s a copy.” I hand him a printout and his eyes scan it.

“Tell me what I’m looking at,” Jeff finally says. “All this goddamned CSI shit gives me a headache. Give me some old school Law & Order any day. Bum-bummm.”

“It’s not that complicated,” I assure him “No worse than a ballistics test. But basically, the two are identical. Markers for a heart attack, but the heavy metals levels are unaccounted for. No reason for him to have those.”

“But the heart attack killed him?”

I hedge, not willing to call it open and shut that easily. “That was the final nail in the coffin, so to speak,” I joke, giving Jeff a single eyebrow raise, “but there was definitely something going on before that. Could the two be connected? I could see it, but it’s not like it’s sure-fire.”

“Okay, I’ll file it in old Dick Horne’s casefile.” He flicks the paper at me and turns toward the door again. “Thanks, Zoey. I’ll get out of your hair. Martha’s a’waiting.”

He leaves, and everything’s quiet and cold again.

All of this was definitely a distraction, but Alver’s accusations aren’t helping me forget Blake and that damn smile.

Stay away from him, Zoey Walker, I tell myself over and over. It’s already too dangerous, for him and you. Don’t do anything you’ll regret . . . and you’ll regret it when Blake ends up in another car accident and that one’s your fault too, regardless of whether you’re driving this time.

Sigh, I know I’m right. The frustration is that I’m not the sort of girl who can just get her itches scratched with random, no-emotions dick. If I let Blake in, I’m going to care about him. I’m going to expose him to danger. My danger. But damn if I don’t want a bit of happy, a bit of easy, and maybe, I even want to be proven wrong. If anyone can do that, Blake seems up for the job.

In a fit of impulsivity, I flip myself a metaphorical middle finger and grab another copy of the toxicology report and my purse.

If Jeff can skip out early, I can too.