Thud. The pound of fist against bag rang in Joe’s ears, the rhythmic sound almost hypnotic. He’d already gone for his daily run, but clearly hadn’t burned enough energy. He was still keyed up, and truth be told, he didn’t want to go home. He hadn’t run into Verna in the last week, and it had taken every scintilla of the discipline he’d nurtured over the years not to walk across that patch of lawn that separated their houses, bang on her door, and stay until they were back to normal. But he couldn’t; she was still angry or hurt or probably both. And he had no idea how to fix it. “I never thought I’d see the day when somebody got the drop on Joe MacDermid,” Poole said. Joe glanced up, noticing that the other man had indeed gotten within striking distance without Joe even noticing. He was way more fucked-up than he’d thought. That, or in addition to being a total asshole, he really had lost a step. Neither option appealed. “I’m guessing you haven’t made things right with your lady friend,”
