But nobody could hear them over the George Strait that was thrumming through the overhead speakers. Didn’t stop their stares, though. Darren kept his eyes on two white dudes sitting at a table by the door. One of the men—eyes black beneath the brim of a red ball cap whose white lettering Darren didn’t need to read to catch its meaning—was watching Darren a little too closely. Slowly, Darren pulled his badge from his pants pocket, held it so it caught the amber light of the neon signs behind the bar, then set it on the oak-lined bar top. The guy with the red cap leaned across his table and whispered something to his drinking buddy, and Darren turned his body so that his back wasn’t to the man and his holster was more clearly visible. Greg saw all this and gestured for the check. Darren told him to put his hand down and instead ordered another bourbon to show that he wasn’t going anywhere.

Greg knew what he was doing. “Ain’t worth it, D.”

“I’m still thirsty.” Darren shot a look of cold rebuke to the other table.

“Thought you quit anyway,” Greg said, nodding at the third glass of bourbon that had found its way to Darren. He looked at Greg and made a face, somewhere between mild irritation and confusion. He and Greg had spoken only twice since they’d seen each other in Lark, and his drinking hadn’t come up either time. Greg seemed to feel that he’d said something wrong, that he never should have opened his mouth. He ordered another beer to show he wasn’t judging. Then, with a pinched look on his face, he said, “Lisa told me.”

“When did you and Lisa talk?”

It wasn’t unheard of. In fact, there was a time when the triangle of their friendship was equal on all three sides. In high school, Lisa and Greg were as close as Greg and Darren were. They were all part of a junior bar association that competed in mock trials with kids from across the state. And when all three were in law school, Darren knew that Lisa and Greg had stayed friendly while they were both at the University of Texas and Darren had flown the state for school in Chicago. But over the years Greg and Lisa’s connection had thinned to nothing more than the slim filament of their mutual connection to Darren. To Greg, Lisa was his wife. To Lisa, Greg was his friend. They no longer socialized together. Darren couldn’t remember when the pattern had cemented itself, but neither had he complained. He’d been happy to have each of them to himself. So it made him unexpectedly jealous to think of the two of them talking without him.

“We crossed paths at the federal courthouse in Houston.”

“What were you doing there?”