Riley shut everything down, switched the phones to forward to her cell, grabbed her purse and headed for the parking lot.

    Chapter Seven

 Riley went to Starbucks, a place that saw her at least once a day.

 She rarely sat around inside. She was usually in and out and on her way—always so much to do. There were those who camped in Starbucks for hours, doing their emails or writing something or studying. People who didn’t have to be somewhere every minute. Not Riley. She never relaxed.

 She bought a newspaper on her way inside. She had a lot to process, something she could do while hiding behind a newspaper, the great barrier.

 It was such a cold November day—a hot coffee with heavy cream sounded good. And there was a nice little table by the window that looked out on the patio that Starbucks shared with the deli. She smiled at a couple of people she didn’t know but saw in there a lot. Then she settled behind the paper.

 Women, she thought. Difficult, complex, emotional creatures. She should know. Not only was she difficult and complex, she also had far more women employees than men. She had those teams of three or four females who found issues they couldn’t get beyond just because of something that was said or a look they didn’t like or maybe a little power struggle. She had to mediate all the time. Or Nick did. Nick was only good at getting results because he didn’t get what was going on with the women so he just scared them. “Can you work this out? Or do I separate the whole unit and scatter you around on different crews? Because you might not like your new crewmates any better. If you can’t get along, then do your job and don’t talk to each other, but you’d damn well better communicate on job issues. Are we all clear?”

 She smiled thinking about that. A typical father-to-little-girls approach. He might as well say, “Since I can’t understand what you’re all upset about, just stop it.”

 Nick took problems getting the job done properly a lot more seriously than he regarded bickering. But women, ah, they could dig in. Grudges between women could last centuries. And they were very personal—a woman who wasn’t usually annoyed could be deeply offended by an offhand remark about the choices of her teenager. “If you’d tell that lazy kid of yours he’s not getting free rent anymore, I bet he’d get off his ass and get a job or go to school.” Pow. Instant feud.

 Sexist as it was, this sort of thing happened less often with men. Oh, they had their fights and their feuds, no question about it, and were even less likely to have dialogue that worked it out. They might blow up but they were less prickly and it was rare for them to obsess.

 Riley, tough and smart and successful, had obsessed about Emma for years. She felt wedged between two extremes—being furious with Emma and feeling guilty over what she’d done. She’d tried so hard to make up with Emma, to beg her forgiveness! And Emma turned her back. Now, when Emma was down and out, Riley was supposed to be the benevolent one? Looking at both of their lives, from that point till now, things had just been...awry. Off. Emma had hooked up with a bad man and Riley? No man. At. All.

 “Excuse me,” a male voice said. “Is this chair taken?”

 What perfect timing, she thought. A man. She lowered her newspaper, trying to think how she would politely say she didn’t want to share the table or have a conversation.

 “Hey,” he said, smiling handsomely. “It’s you.”

 “I...ah...”

 He put out a hand and didn’t let her finish. “Logan. Logan Danner. We’ve never officially met, but we’ve run into each other at the grocery store at least five times, which means you either live or work around here.”

 Don’t do it, she told herself. She took his hand. “Riley. I, ah...I work not too far from here and am addicted to coffee that costs seven dollars a cup. Bad habit.”

 He laughed and sat down. “I guess it could be worse. We could run into each other at a crack house... Now, that would be bad.”

 “Look...”

 “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said. “You weren’t looking for company, my mistake. I’ll just make this a to-go cup and catch you someday at the deli counter...”

 “No, I’m sorry,” she said with a heavy sigh. “I was just trying to shake off a problem I had at work. Go ahead. Take the chair. But I might not be very conversational.”

 He didn’t hesitate. “I’m a good listener, if you feel like talking.”

 “No, thanks. Let’s stick to the price of melons.”

 “I’m also a good talker, if you’d rather not. Or we can pass the time as if we’re alone.” He reached down and pulled a small laptop out of a canvas shoulder bag. He put it on the table and opened it up. He turned it on. He sipped his coffee. He peeked at her around the screen.

 She laughed lightly. “You’re being very obvious.”

 He gazed over the screen. “In what way?”

 “Are you trying to get my attention? Interest me?”

 “I am,” he said. “How’m I doing?”

 “You’re actually terrible at it,” she said, laughter in her voice. “You verge on annoying. More to the point, we keep running into each other. Are you stalking me?”

 “That would be rude,” he said. “Not to mention a felony. Well, it becomes a felony if it’s threatening, but it’s a misdemeanor when it’s just rude.”

 “And you know these things how?”

 “I’m a police detective.”

 She started to laugh. “Oh, man, the only pickup line that works better than that is being a Navy SEAL.”