And then he closed her out again. “I’ve just got a lot to deal with.”

Translation: Stop bothering me and for God’s sake, don’t pressure me into a decision about having a baby.

“I’m a psychologist. I can feel you blocking me out.”

“And I’m a cop. A detective. Or I was. I’ve just got to figure out a few things.” He looked at her again, the expression in his eyes unreadable. But this time when he touched her, he held fast. “Trust me.”

“I do. But I think you’re depressed and no one can blame you. Maybe we need a change of scenery, a new start.”

“And a baby? Look, I don’t think that will solve the problem.” He met her gaze evenly. “You can’t run from problems, Livvie. You know that. Sooner or later they catch up to you. Mistakes have a way of chasing you down. Even ones from a long time ago.”

“That’s what you think’s happened?” she asked, her mind spinning to tiny references he’d made lately. “Your past in L.A. finally finding you?” She pulled her hand away from his.

“I don’t know what’s happening. But I’m working on it. Right now, it’s the best I can do.” He signaled a passing waiter for the bill and the conversation was effectively ended. They settled up and Bentz walked stiffly, though unaided, through the dark restaurant toward the street where his Jeep was parked. He’d insisted on driving and had done a fair enough job on the way to dinner. Though now, on the way home, Olivia whispered a few Hail Marys as he pushed the speed limit on the freeway and she accused him of driving like Montoya.

He flashed her a grin and stepped on it.

They drove home in relative silence, the radio playing softly, the engine humming, each of them lost in thought. At the house he walked her up the front steps, held the door for her, and outwardly seemed attentive. Even loving.

They went through their usual routine. She took care of the pets and went upstairs to read in bed; he watched the news before coming up to their room. They didn’t say much; uncertainty and the tension between them still simmered in the air.

From the corner of her eye Olivia watched Bentz strip down to his boxers, noticing that he winced a little as he slid into bed. She dog-eared the page she’d been reading, folded the book closed, and placed it on her nightstand. “I don’t want to fight,” she said, reaching to turn out the light. She lay still a moment as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. “I don’t want to go to sleep angry.”

“Are you?”