“Grilled salmon with pesto sauce,” she said.
“Excellent,” Jake said. He winked at Thompson. “Fish is good for you, I hear.”
Thompson made a note, but Jake didn’t think it had anything to do with the benefits of eating fish.
Thompson was looking very hard at Clare again. “Anyone else there at the house with you?”
“No,” Clare said.
“Make any phone calls?” he asked.
“No,” Clare said.
This was not going well, Jake thought. Probably ought to do something. But it was hard to think through the murky haze the painkiller had created in his brain.
Thompson wrote something else on his notepad. “Anyone call you, Miss Lancaster?”
“The only call I got was the one from this hospital telling me that Jake had been injured,” Clare said evenly.
Jake tried revving up his senses to beat back the pleasant mushy-headed sensation. When the psi energy pulsed through him he managed to glimpse some clarity amid the clouds.
“Get a grip here, Thompson,” he said. “I was shot with a scoped rifle, remember? You’ve got the bullet I dug out of that stud. You know as well as I do that you’re looking for some guy who likes to hunt.”
Thompson nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Well then, that proves it,” Jake said.
Thompson’s brow furrowed. “Proves what, sir?”
“That Clare had nothing to do with my getting shot, of course.” Jake gave her an affectionate little pat on the top of her head. “Doubt if my little Clare has ever hunted a day in her life. Right, sweetie?”
Clare stiffened. “Hunting is certainly not my thing.”
“See there, Thompson?” Jake said, “What did I tell you?”
Thompson made the derisive snort all hunters make when someone informs them that not everyone considers shooting animals to be a fabulous way to spend an afternoon.
“Feel sorry for Bambi?” Thompson asked Clare.
“I know that there are some legitimate reasons to hunt,” Clare said through her teeth. “Thinning the herds by removing diseased animals appears to be at the top of everyone’s list of justifications. But why anyone would want to kill and eat a diseased animal is beyond me.”
Thompson scowled. “That’s not the only reason.”
“Well, I suppose there is the sport factor,” she agreed politely. “But in my opinion gunning down unarmed creatures with a high-powered weapon does not strike me as something that a civilized person would do for the sheer fun of it.”
“She’s not from around here,” Jake explained confidentially to Thompson.
“Yeah, I got that impression,” Thompson said.
“Comes from San Francisco.” Jake patted Clare on the head again. “CFL territory.”
“What,” Clare asked in a dangerous tone, “does CFL stand for?”
“Certified Flaming Liberal,” Jake explained. “Yes, sir,” he said, turning back to Thompson. “I think it’s safe to say that my little Clare is a genuine, card-carrying member of the bleeding heart antigun lobby.”
“Speaking of bleeding,” Clare said, giving him a steely smile. “We need to get you home and into bed. You heard what the doctor said. You’re supposed to rest.”
“Okay,” Jake said. He looked around, trying to be helpful. “Which way is home?”
“This way.” Clare took his good arm. She glanced at Thompson. “Can we leave now? Jake looks like he might collapse at any moment.”
“Nah,” Jake said. “Steady as a rock. That’s me.”
The room tilted on its axis. Clare steadied him.
“The doc was right,” Thompson said. “Whatever was in that pain shot is hitting him hard.”
“Yes.” Clare steered Jake toward the door. “You know where to reach us if you have any more questions.”
“You need some help with him?” Thompson asked.
“No, thanks,” Clare said. “I can manage.”
Jake smiled benignly. “She’s stronger than she looks.”
He allowed himself to be maneuvered through another set of glass doors and out into a hallway. He was vaguely aware of Clare pushing him gently into a chair while she made some purchases at the hospital pharmacy.
A few minutes later she eased him carefully into the passenger seat of her rental car.
He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the back of the seat. He heard Clare’s door open and close. Then he felt her fumbling with his seat belt.
“You know what Thompson was thinking,” he said without opening his eyes.
“Not hard to guess.” She fired up the engine. “Another mysterious crime here in the fair town of Stone Canyon, Arizona, and what do you know? Clare Lancaster just happens to be in the vicinity again.”
“You do seem inclined toward a lot of bad luck whenever you’re in this burg,” Jake said.
“You’re the one who got the rotten luck today. Dear God, Jake. Someone tried to murder you.”
He forced himself to focus hard on the subject. “Could have been a hunter’s stray shot.”
“I don’t believe that for a second and neither do you. It’s connected to the fact that you’re helping me find out what was going on in Brad McAllister’s life at the time he was killed. It has to be.”
He opened his eyes. “I’ll admit that getting shot today did sort of strike me as something of a coincidence.”
“Did you tell that cop that we’re investigating the circumstances of Brad’s death?”
“Hell, no.”
“Why not?”
“It’s kind of complicated,” Jake said.
“I’m getting a bad feeling here. Define ‘complicated.’”
Time to level with her, he thought.
“This is Jones & Jones business,” he said.
“Damn,” Clare whispered. “I knew you were lying right from the start.”
Jake felt that he should probably try to respond to that accusation but he couldn’t seem to think anymore.
So he went to sleep, instead.
Chapter Thirty-seven
She pulled into the drive, switched off the engine and looked over at Jake. He was still asleep. The only thing that had kept him from sprawling forward against the dashboard was the seat belt.
“Jake?” She leaned around him to shake his right shoulder very gently. “Wake up. We’re home.”