“Honey, it’s not. It’s not like that. Freemont’s a sick son of a bitch. Wickham?” He remembered Hope’s term. “He’s just a slimy bastard.”

“She convinced me, mostly. But, after you really understand how far some people will go, how obsessed they can be . . . Will you keep an eye out anyway?”

“It’s already done.”

She took the coffee he handed her. “Then I feel better.” And drew in the scent. “A lot better.”

“I’ve got to get going. Are you all right on your own?”

Her smile warmed as she patted her belly. “We’re fine.”

He went out, let D.A. out of the truck, and they walked over to MacT’s together. He might rag on Beckett about the husband and daddy deal, but he knew his brother had hit the jackpot with Clare. Ryder considered her one in a million.

They’d changed each other’s lives, as she’d said, but things were supposed to change. Change meant progress, improvements, the occasional happy surprise.

Like when they’d opened the wall between the restaurant side and bar side and discovered the old wood siding complete with two old windows.

Owen hit it big with Avery as well, Ryder mused. She’d taken one look at the old siding and instead of asking them to cover it up again, embraced it, appreciated the character and what it added to the building.

He imagined within a handful of years, Owen would be juggling kids and work and life. Owen might write up schedules, but wasn’t so stupid or rigid he wouldn’t adjust.

Change, he mused as he got another day’s work started, he was in the business of it.

He put in time with his tools, interrupted three times by the phone, which he started hating again. He crossed over to the fitness center to deal with a problem there, then back to the restaurant, where he found Beckett picking up where he’d left off.

“Owen met with the inspector,” Beckett told him. “Bakery’s good to go.”

“I heard.”

“He’s meeting with Lacy now,” Beckett said, referring to the baker. “Then he’ll go ahead and pick up the U&O. That’s a big check mark off the list.”

“Plenty left to go. Things are under control here.” Ryder looked around to be certain. “You can come with me.”

“Where?”

“We’re going to tear off that bastard roof.”

“We had that for midweek.”

“We’ve got a dry day, and it’s supposed to stay under ninety. Let’s get it done.”

It wasn’t the first tar roof they’d ripped off, but it would be the biggest. And Beckett remembered, not at all fondly, just how laborious, filthy, and downright nasty the job was.

“You don’t want to wait for Owen?”

Ryder just sneered at him. “Afraid of a little sweat, sweetheart?”

“Sunstroke maybe.”