“Bullshit,” Hazard said, adjusting the cast iron over the heat. “I’m never cute and nice.”

“Hey,” Somers said.

“Yeah?” Hazard dropped in the first ribeye; the meat sizzled as it hit the pan.

“Hey, big boy.”

“Jesus,” Hazard said as he placed the other steak in the cast iron. “What are you? A sailor on Fleet Week?”

“Will you please look at me?”

“I’m trying to make you a delicious, heavy dinner so that when we talk later, it doesn’t turn into a fight.”

“Ree, over here, please.”

Hazard glanced over his shoulder.

“I just wanted to let you know that it’s official.”

“You’re pregnant.”

Somers choked on the Pepsi, and he took about thirty seconds clearing his airway and dabbing at himself, and when he’d finished, he said, “Asshole.”

“Sorry,” Hazard said, hiding his face by turning back to the cutting board again. “You were saying?”

“I was going to say that it’s official, as of today, July 4, 2019, I love you more than ever.”

“Huh.”

“But now I’m not going to say it.”

“Ok.”

“Because I do not appreciate this side of you that likes to tease me. It’s coming out more and more.”

“Noted.”

“And because you’re trying to sedate me with steak. Steak should only be used for good.”

“The ends justify the means.”

Somers was silent for a moment, and then the moment dragged on, and Hazard looked over his shoulder. Somers’s expression was distant as he played with the Pepsi.

“So it’s pretty bad, huh?” Somers asked. “This stuff with Dulac, I mean.”

“It’s not great. Let’s eat first. Did they make any headway on the search? Let’s start there, because if he turned up, that changes what I’m going to say.”

“Shit,” Somers said. “I completely forgot. I need to check in. Let me make a few calls; Riggle told me to steer clear, but I bet Norman and Gross will blab if I promise them beer.”

Hazard checked the steaks, flipped them, and seared the other side.

“This is ridiculous,” Somers said, lowering the phone.

“What?”

“I’ve called Norman twice and Gross three times. They’re not answering.”

“So try somebody else.” Hazard checked the steaks. “And don’t make faces at me.”

“I didn’t make a face.”

Hazard decided, since it had been a long day, he would let Somers have that one.

“What the hell?” Somers said, dropping his phone. “Nobody is answering. Not Carmichael. Not Moraes. Not Carlson. Not Nickels. I even tried Yarmark, the only one of those new assholes who might be decent.”

Hazard frowned as he slid the cast iron, steaks and all, into the oven. He set the timer. “Maybe something big is going down. Did you miss a call?”

Somers checked his phone and shook his head. “I guess I’ll call dispatch and see if something’s up. Maybe Ehlers just forgot to call me.”

“That seems possible,” Hazard said.

He was headed to the refrigerator to grab the pasta salad when the doorbell rang. Somers stood, still talking quietly into the phone, but Hazard waved him back into the seat. Heading for the front door, Hazard tried to decide if pasta salad was just too much carbs on general principle. Maybe he needed to stop including it in their meals. He was trying to calculate the day’s macros when he swerved, more from routine than anything else, and checked the porch from the window.